


Hotel California

by fairlightscales



Series: 33 and 1/3 [22]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fights, Grammy Awards, Marriage, Musicians, Other characters from Poldark will be added, Rock and Roll, Ross and Dem, Secrets, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, mature content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 65,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairlightscales/pseuds/fairlightscales
Summary: The road to Hell is paved with good intentions
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Malcolm McNeil, Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark, Hugh Armitage/Demelza Carne
Series: 33 and 1/3 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420387
Comments: 310
Kudos: 29





	1. Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, nothing to see here...
> 
> The gap between here and the existing chapters is gigantic.
> 
> Hotel California will return...
> 
> If you read:
> 
> Little Wing  
> Why Don't We Do It In The Road  
> Gimme Shelter  
> All Tomorrow's Parties  
> Heatwave  
> Sympathy For The Devil  
> All Tomorrow's Parties (Part Two)
> 
> In that order, the story will have gone from WG's Ross Poldark to The Four Swans
> 
> Hotel California is The Angry Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good intention

I. Breathe

Hugh was ecstatic. They had a marvelous Old Grey Whistle Test performance, the recording sessions in New York were exceptional and the city had been a treasure trove of publicity for them. London's WEA headquarters had been inundated with queries from their New York offices and from the West Coast! All asking about Demelza and her schedule. Would she be launched in London only or would she return? Would she come out to California? Can she act? Would she consider a photo session for American Vogue? Seventeen? Mademoiselle? Hugh was pleased as Punch. The buzz was phenomenal and gave him more clout. Demelza would refuse another long haul, three month trip. Hugh knew she would not leave her children for that length of time having only just gotten back. But a quick trip to California... A trifle. A week? Ten days... Ten days was better. The Grammys were in February, that was perfect. A reason to go that was also a prime opportunity to be in town at the same time as anyone who was anyone. WEA was amiable and requested a finalized list of participants, the group and each member's guest to be in the Warner section of the Grammys audience. Hugh promised to return that information promptly. This would be a good palette cleanser as well. Hugh had more satisfaction than he had bargained for in New York. Demelza had permitted him and Malcolm, both, to sleep with her. That was a situation Hugh had not dreamed of. Not considered possible at all. It was tremendous. But it was a singular moment. A second trip with everyone behaving properly was important. It would set the tone for the rest of their working together. Hugh held a hope that Demelza might become closer to Malcolm, close enough to throw her husband Ross over and have a man who would treat her properly. Hugh had no hopes for himself as Demelza's love interest. He was dying. Hugh was alive at the moment but terminally ill and not a candidate for her affections. Having been in the privileged position to witness their lovemaking in her Plaza hotel room he could believe Demelza and Malcolm would be a lovely couple. That might happen or it might not but travelling again so soon after that decadence with Demelza's husband in tow would clear the path to being sensible again. She would go about L.A. with Ross and make the rounds with an air of respectability. In town for the Grammys with her husband. More than one person asked Hugh if Malcolm was Demelza's boyfriend. Hugh asked Malcolm when he started working with them for they larked about and held hands as if he was a lover. Hugh would head that off in L.A. if possible. Demelza with her husband at the Grammys. It was inevitable that she and Malcolm would go around a bit, they might sightsee, Ross seemed to prefer Malcolm to escort her at parties even when he was with her; keep his own counsel and let her enjoy herself with a friend as gregarious as she could be. Red and Blue would have the chance to see L.A. and Ross would be with her so there would be no repeat of New York. They would be "good" and break any cycle of debauchery before it happened. Room to breathe and resume some normalcy. As enjoyable as it was to indulge a tonne of sex it would be foolish to act like that again. That so many people from the U.S. were asking after Demelza meant the anonymity they enjoyed in New York would not be possible much longer. To be seen with her husband would blunt some of the speculation over Malcolm and keep them honest. Demelza and Malcolm seemed content that their one transgression was enough. Hugh had no intention of sleeping with Demelza again but he might be sorely tempted to try manoeuvre Red and Blue towards each other again if they went to L.A. without Ross there too. If Malcolm and Demelza chose to become lovers once more that was a decision they would have to make themselves. Hugh needed to stay out of their way, he counseled himself not to meddle with them. Having her husband with them would keep him from that temptation. It was a temptation. Hansel and Gretel were fascinating to behold...

II. Humdrum

Ross, having checked his list against the refrigerator, Jinny, Betsy and Dem’s suggestions, completed the weekly shop. The novelty of seeing Ross Poldark puttering around the supermarket had been absorbed by all. He’d been knocking around this part of London before he even met Dem and even the novelty of having “that bloke on Top of the Pops” in their midst had waned into what was. There was comfort in the humdrum. Honesty. Even rock stars need loo roll and chocolate digestives. Even the bloke on the telly can deign to purchase the household needs. Even Demelza Poldark’s husband. He stood eyeing the cigarettes and candy by the till. They never bought sweets particularly much for Dem’s drummer, Malcolm was a font of sugar, always had candy about him. Ross put his foot down over letting Jeremy and Clowance have too many sweets and Malcolm did stop giving them needless candies. It was incredible how much sugar he ate. Ross wasn’t sure if it was a personal habit or the god given right of all Scotsmen but Malcolm ate sweets incessantly and piled astonishing amounts of sugar in his tea that would make a builder blush! Ross looked over his purchases. He remembered more sugar. He had things all in hand. Dance lessons. Voice lessons. Band practice. A signing at Drum City where Malcolm, Dem and Hugh signed pictures as a band as well as Dem’s capacity as an Orange Amps mascot. Ross could not make “spokeswoman” quite work out in his head. She was their Little Mermaid and a small gold scallop shell jostled at her neck with her gold ‘D’ charm Ross had given her so long ago. They hadn’t had Julia yet... Dem’s life was busy and successful. Ross’ life was busy... Satisfying... it was good to watch one’s children grow. Good to give Jeremy the nurturing Ross had not shown him when he was truly small... Good to see Clowance getting brighter and more talkative... Ross had not written any lyrics in recent months... That’s to be expected... Someone said the surest stake in the heart to creativity is the pram in the hallway. Ross could admit, even with Jinny and Betsy’s assistance looking after children did take quite a bit of mental energy. Ross was happy... Dem was surging forward and he was a help to her. He made amends for all his messes, his mistakes. He must be vigilant... Dem still had sore feelings sometimes... One could not blame her... She came back from New York sensing something had cropped up afresh in his relationship to Elizabeth and she could only treat it with suspicion. Ross had little to recommend in the way of trust with a woman he had dangled in front of Dem for years as his unquenchable first love and made a natural child with in a heartless greediness. Ross had not dallianced with Elizabeth again. He did kiss her face, he did... It was the last of their love, or the finale of that love. Ross was not in a position to explain. He would not, it was too dangerous. Dem was angry. The subtle bond between them, her second sense that was so natural in Dem and attuned to Ross was dragged off course by previous events. She was suspicious. Why should she have thought him innocent? When had he ever showed common sense when it came to Elizabeth. Dem knew him too. Knew Ross was weak... One day, if he was not careful Ross might be run down, not looking where he was going. He had been lost in thought as he wheeled the shopping trolley to the car and wasn’t paying attention. The woman honked her horn in irritation. Ross had scared her, she might have hit him and it was his fault. How many troubles of his own making. How much was his own fault... “Papa!” Ross set the last bag on the floor of the hall. He picked Clowance up and teased her, and kissed her as she hung round his neck. And Jeremy helped bring items into the kitchen. And Clowance trotted behind him clutching a packet of currants in a proud mimic of her big brother, helping... The girls had them back from the park a little early. Had they remained out he might have played guitar... No matter, he still played at night...

III. Rock Follies

Malcolm, sitting on the floor by the windows, offered Demelza a Kola Kube and she plucked it from the paper quarter bag with a winsome blink of her eyes. Malcolm returned it in a bashful happiness as he procured his own and they ate them in a dreamy daze. _They made it._ More than once. Countless times. With Hugh an’ all... It had been a mad, lunatic, _wonderful_ time... That was necessarily over now. Red was married and Blue, as much as one could do after breaking the biggest “rule” of their close friendship, regained his honor and their idyll came to a proper end. But an end that was only a couple months ago. They made love in November. With bells on. Dem had asked both Blue and Hugh to bed in her hotel room. Christmas had come and gone. It was January. It wouldn’t be human to shake off that glow of affection in a matter of months. It was deeply wrong but consequential. It had linked them closer for all they could never hope to have that experience again. That made it more important. It deified a sin. They had siiiiiiiiiiiiiined... Hugh rolled his eyes though his dark glasses obscured it. They hadn't written a thing in that exercise book for at least fifteen minutes. It sat idle while they day dreamed about their idyll. Well let them. Hansel and Gretel had a safe space in their rehearsal room. Hugh did not chide them though he had to practically gnaw off his own hand not to tease them. He behaved as faultless as one could do. If _he_ stared a little too long it did not matter. His sunglasses and Du Magazine were a camouflage and he had the right to burn Demelza’s visage into his mind’s eye. Vision would be the first thing to go... If Hugh let them dream it was a kindness. Demelza deserved kindness and Malcolm so often provided it to her. Hugh had seen appalling scars on Demelza’s back as she slept a purring rest in Malcolm’s arms. Hugh set his drink aside and drew closer in his horror at them, viewed them closely. Her father had beaten her badly enough they criss crossed a faint Jackson Pollock upon her back decades after the fact. Ross Poldark had saved her from a man who might very well have killed her and gave out a story to spare Demelza strangers knowing how viciously she had been misused, saying her father sought Poldark’s aid to help her precocious musical talent. Poldark trained up her talent. Sleeping with Demelza in a stupendous adultery of three way sex had inadvertently given Hugh more appreciation for her husband. Hugh would have had little reason to witness Demelza's back at close range otherwise. That was a respect that Ross had not gained any earlier from her manager and bassist. Hugh thought him a careless villain up to that point. Ross Poldark was exasperating but he had done more for Demelza than Hugh had known. Malcolm seemed to know her father’s death had been a relief to Demelza but Hugh had not conceived the level of evil the girl had borne. They sat side by side at the back wall by the windows. Eating sweets. Practice had disintegrated. When they had murmured their joy; in love, in a desperate ecstasy, in total preoccupation, Hugh’s presence some feet away ignored in that moment, it was much like songs for Malcolm’s Scottish accent seemed to complement Demelza’s Cornish one. Dovetailed and joined. They were reverential and joyous. Malcolm would never hurt her, her drummer, her friend. Hugh had a ringside seat. Later Hugh brought himself within their web. It did not harm them. He was careful and slow and they were so grateful to be allowed their tryst it became absorbed. Hansel and Gretel trusted him. Hugh gave them all that they wanted including their right to love. They had a right to be lovers. If they had sense they would turn to each other in truth. Demelza could grow out of her childish affection for the man that, genuinely, saved her from her father’s violence. One should not be sewn into a jacket. Demelza had outgrown Ross, she just didn’t know it yet. She was grateful to Ross, why shouldn’t she be? Poldark had given her much. She was older but was she wiser? Wouldn’t it be best if she had a good man like Malcolm who valued her as she was NOW not in a stunted configuration with an older man who didn’t seem anymore mature than his young wife? Hugh would watch Ross, should he come to L.A., watch their interactions. He felt Ross was the right man for her in her youth but marrying her was a bridge too far. Hugh would watch them. What chinks lay in Poldark’s armor would not be difficult to discern. Hugh did not consider this hubris. Malcolm was a better fit and they deserved it. The working class morality over Red and Blue might yet be broken. They liked it very much, The Plaza... He had Gretel in truth. Hugh had taken ‘Red’ and they did not resist him. A trio in truth, and he maintained their trust. Malcolm and Demelza were grateful. Why shouldn’t they be? They were a trio and Hugh was the boss.

“I do wonder...” began Hugh.

It pulled Malcolm and Demelza out of their fog of daydream. They looked to him good naturedly. Hugh smirked. “Warner has a section of their Shrine seats going begging,” Dem knit her brows. “Shrine?” Hugh nodded. “The Shrine Auditorium..” said Hugh. Malcolm perked up. “Fuckin’ Hell! Ee mean seats at the Grammys!?” Demelza sat up a little. “In America?” Malcolm turned to face her. “L.A.! California!” He turned to Hugh. “You mean t’say we can see the Grammys? See ‘em proper!?” Hugh stopped himself saying ’aye’ _must not tease_... “Yes, though we’d have to get our dibs in, in the next day or two. Junkets like that are popular. Do you think Ross will accompany you Demelza?” Dem blinked. She had not said yes for herself let alone Ross. Malcolm seemed excited though. “How long would we be away? I feel like we just got settled again from the Ladyland sessions...” Hugh’s smirk widened a fraction. “Ten days. Ten days in February and a quick way to meet the creme de la creme of the West Coast brass as well as just about anyone who matters. By going we shall be seen as ‘people who matter’ for all we are still poised at the starting line. America is a whole other kettle of fish but it wouldn’t hurt and very much help your profile in the States.” Demelza looked unsure. “It would be as well to take the jaunt.” suggested Hugh. “That would leave you free to remain in England for the rest of the year and into the next. I shouldn’t think a tour could begin before 1980, what with your son beginning full days at school...” said Hugh with the nonchalant addition of a boon to her children. Demelza turned it over in her mind. Hugh could see it. It dangled a common sense and solution to her like a charm. She was a very loving mother. Hugh smiled. Demelza could see that Hugh was taking her family life into account even as it was so much on the heels of having been three months away. And Ross along with them! Like a proper couple. Together and able to be seen as unified and true. A reset. A way of making amends to him. Even now she had sat with Blue all lovestruck and silly. Hugh let them be, a kindness... But she could give Ross her proper attention and he could have fun apart from home. He was home bound with the children it would be a nice break for him. “Ten days...?” said Demelza, thinking. Hugh smiled. A proper smile.  
“Ten days.” said Hugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breathe, Pink Floyd 1972
> 
> Breathe, breathe in the air  
> Don't be afraid to care  
> Leave but don't leave me  
> Look around, choose your own ground  
> For long you live and high you fly  
> And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry  
> And all your touch and all you see  
> Is all your life will ever be
> 
> Run, rabbit run  
> Dig that hole, forget the sun  
> And when at last the work is done  
> Don't sit down, it's time to dig another one  
> For long you live and high you fly  
> But only if you ride the tide  
> And balanced on the biggest wave  
> You race towards an early grave
> 
> Humdrum, Peter Gabriel 1977
> 
> I saw the man at J.F.K.  
> He took your ticket yesterday  
> In the humdrum  
> I ride tandem with a random  
> Things don't run the way I planned them  
> In the humdrum  
> Hey Valentina, do you want me to beg?  
> You got me cooking I'm a hard boiled egg  
> In the humdrum  
> Empty my mind, I find it hard to cope  
> Listen to my heart, don't need no stethoscope  
> Seem to me that television  
> She come to cut me a deep incision  
> In the humdrum  
> Empty my mind, I find it hard to cope  
> Listen to my heart - don't need no stethoscope  
> Out of woman come the man  
> Spend the rest of his life gettin' back where he can  
> As a bow, so a dove  
> As below, so above  
> From the black hole  
> Come the tadpole  
> With the dark soul  
> In coal she burn, she burn  
> As I drove into the sun  
> Didn't dare look where I had begun  
> Lost among echoes of things not there  
> Watching the sound forming shapes in the air  
> From the white star  
> Came the bright scar  
> Our amoeba  
> My little liebe schoen
> 
> Rock Follies, as performed by the Little Ladies (Rula Lenska, Julie Convington and Charlotte Cornwell)1977
> 
> Everybody wants to sing  
> In the Rock Follies  
> Do their private little thing  
> In the Rock Follies  
> Have to break  
> Out of their cage  
> Have their eyes fixed on the stage  
> So numb they never  
> Feel the sting in  
> The Rock  
> The Rock  
> The Rock Follies
> 
> See them pouring  
> Down the eyes  
> With their plastic  
> Haunted smiles  
> Women with talent  
> Women with none  
> Men selling power  
> Peddling fun  
> The managers and bankers  
> The publishers and wankers  
> Gramophone producers  
> Golden disk seducers  
> Thousands fill the theatre  
> Thousands hear the call  
> The stage begins to crumble  
> It cannot hold them all
> 
> Everybody wants to shine  
> For the Rock Follies  
> Children who are lost and pine  
> For the Rock Follies  
> Cunning madly  
> Running blind  
> Feel the fever in the mind  
> See the crazy  
> Endless line for  
> The Rock  
> The Rock  
> The Rock Follies
> 
> WEA: stands for "Warner, Elektra, Atlantic" and the umbrella for Warner Records European divisions
> 
> loo roll: toilet paper
> 
> Hubris: extreme or foolish pride or dangerous overconfidence, often in combination


	2. Just A Housewife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helpmeet

"It's only ten days! Barely any time at all!" said Dem. Ross was less sure. "But you were already away three months," complained Ross. "Do you really need to go to the Grammys?!" He set the teapot down on the table. The children were playing on the third floor in Jinny and Betsy's company. "It's not just that." Dem explained. "Hugh said all the business dealings in America are moving west, to the California offices. There are executives now who almost never go to New York anymore. We can meet some of them and maybe radio people out there." Dem said. "We can see what the West Coast is like as well as be seen..." Ross rolled his eyes. "Be seen..." tsked Ross. "Why bother?" asked Ross. "You're with Warner! That's what the promo men are for! You don't have to be in America for the label to promote you..." Dem shook her head 'no'. "Hugh says we should go there because they will have seen us when the Warner marketers talk to them later. He said we would be a 'known quantity', and maybe we will meet other people to put a good word in for us! Going in the lead up to the Grammys means all the important people will be there all at the same time. Better than going for just a trip. He said 'Leaving home now means staying home later.' If we take the trip now we can stay in England with all of that done already. I'll be home when Jeremy starts school properly." Ross had to admit he would rather Dem take a trip now than when Jeremy started school. And there was the looming task of engaging a new caretaker and housekeeper to take over when the Paynters retired. That at least put the trip in a more sensible light. Dem cut a thick slice of teacake, studded with dried cherries and mixed peel. Ross had cause to be thankful that Prudie taught Dem so many of her recipes. Dem's tea cake was quite like Prudie's. If he had to suffer the Paynters moving on to their much deserved rest at least he would still have a proper taste of home at teatime. She set the plate at his seat and cut a slice for herself. "You could come with us..." said Dem, shyly "Would you like to come with us?" Ross blinked in surprise. Dem smiled. Ross was surprised and it was sweet to see him widen his eyes. "Did you think I'd go with Blue when I could have my proper 'date'?" she giggled. Ross could admit that yes, he assumed he would be at home and Dem would be on Malcolm's arm, as her drummer, as her... friend. "Do you really think we should both go? Both leave the children?" Asked Ross a little nervous that they both be gone. Dem smiled. "They'll be fine at Nampara! Jud and Prudie as well as Jinny and Betsy... They should come to no harm! It's only ten days!" Dem had come around to Hugh's way of thinking. "Besides," said Dem, sadly, "Jud and Prudie won't be working next year. Clowance and Jeremy will be better off having some concentrated time with them..." They stared down at their plates of teacake. The Paynters were more than servants to Ross and Dem. Clowance and Jeremy would adapt to new servants more easily than they would. Jinny, Betsy and Blue were a constant in the children's life that would remain who ever became the new caretakers. Ross and Dem would have to be proper master and lady of the house, telling them what to do, seeing the tasks performed adequately, work alongside them to help them learn to manage Nampara. Jud and Prudie had looked after Ross since he was a young child and Dem since she came to live at Nampara. They were as much charges of their servants, _children_ of their servants as employers. The Paynters deserved to rest after so many years of devoted service to the Poldarks but Ross and Dem were sad. It would be the end of an era and the last figleaf of their need to be looked after wrested away. They would have to be proper grown ups now... Dem looked up from her cake and they shared a smile. They were afraid to be grown ups at twenty-six and thirty-seven years of age, that's how much they came to rely on the Paynters loving care. Ross gave a snort of a laugh, intuitively understanding the fear of 'growing up'. "It had to happen sometime..." shrugged Ross, smiling. Dem giggled a little. "They can have time with the children and then we'll be home to stay, start making inquiries..." Ross nodded. "And we'll have a proper Christmas party, one last Christmas under the Paynter's rule..." Dem pinched a piece of teacake away with her fingers. "We should get Jud a watch..." Ross perked up. "Yes! A pocket watch, a good one! We could have it engraved!" They grinned. A fitty gift for Jud. Ross knit his brows. "What should we give Prudie?" Dem frowned too, chewing. She swallowed. "I'm not sure... We have time to decide..." L.A. and the trip had evaporated. They were involved in thinking of a present for Prudie. Ross poured their tea and regained the thread of the original conversation. "Ten days?" said Ross. Dem smiled over her cup. She had felt closer to Ross since she came back from New York. Dem had left upset over hearing Ross had kissed Elizabeth and even slept with Hugh and Malcolm in a sense of privilege in that anger. She returned determined to be a better wife. She had wronged Ross and came to the seasick realization than Ross would be justified in being as betrayed and broken-hearted as she had been over Elizabeth, over Valentine. Dem wanted to be closer to Ross. She would not admit her sins, but she would make amends. She would be a better wife because Dem and Ross were equal, in a way. Both straying. Both renewed in a sense of purpose. To be each others and remain true. She would show all of L.A. they were 'Ross n' Dem'. "Ten days. We'll see California and watch the Grammys and come home." Ross took a sip. He had not been in America since the 60s and never been to California. And Hugh had been lavish to a fault in New York. Dem seemed to have recovered from the bratty sense of entitlement she showed returning from that trip. Being part of this junket might allow him to be a steadying influence as well as keeping watch over Hugh. That much money of his own, spending so much money of his own on Demelza and Malcolm was not normal. Dem and Malcolm seemed to accept it as Hugh's way of being but Ross was less sure that was true. This trip would be out of Warner's coffers. What other geegaws might Armitage insist on giving them? And to what end? A second pair of eyes would not go amiss. And it was only ten days. What could go wrong in ten days?"

"Yes, I will come with you." said Ross. They shared a smile.

"That's good! Caroline will join us as well." said Hugh. Red and Blue sat across from Hugh at his desk. The sky was overcast as the windows mirrored them, the desk and the lamps on the floor like a theatre scrim against the dark, January day. "Is there anyone you care to have join us Malcolm?" Blue shrugged. "Nay, just me. I ain't attached t'no one..." Hugh gave a snort. "I'm not attached to Caroline, if that's what you mean. Anyone really, a friend..." Malcolm shook his head no. "Nay. But there might be people about in L.A. to see, I know a buncha blokes went out there for session work. Just me, Hugh. Ten days away an' a look see is all I need out of it." Hugh nodded, wrote a note in his agenda, looked up at Demelza. "You will have your children in Cornwall? Are you sure? You could get back home to London and see them sooner..." Dem shook her head. "Nampara is better. The Paynters are there and the Martins live in Sawle so the girls can be near their family too. And Jinny's been seeing more of a bit of Whitey Scoble these days... Better for everyone." said Dem. Hugh looked at her, sternly. "If she weds you might be down a babyminder. You really should get a proper nanny for your children!" Dem flinched. "Perhaps, but we have to replace the Paynters first, that's too much change at once..." said Dem. Hugh frowned. "The agencies train them thoroughly! You'd barely lift a fing..." Malcolm interjected. "'Ere Hugh," Clo and Jer were his pals as well as Red's children. The Paynters were like a mam an' da to Red, not just servants. "Red ain't spoilin' t'get a nanny for now... Leave it, eh?" Malcolm spoke quietly, politely but with a warning edge in his voice. Hugh smirked. Don't want a nanny, won't bank at Coutts, the Poldarks were so strangely aligned. Demelza was poised to be properly wealthy but they seemed to believe they would live in their poky little London house and bank at Pascoe's of Truro forever. Any suggestions that she dare to live like a sensible person seemed to scare her. Demelza was a proper musician but she seemed to think of herself as just a housewife with a hobby! They were so middle class! How do a family as old as the Poldarks turn into 'little people'? It was bizarre! Hugh smirked in consternation. Malcolm interceded on his 'Red's' behalf. Two working class friends. True working class friends. Malcolm was good to Demelza's children. They had fucked each other silly in New York, and not just an exercise in lust! There had been moments between Malcolm and Demelza that were very emotional and sweet, loving, and that was just the night, they'd had a day to themselves as well... They _loved_ each other. It was plain as could be! They would be so good together... If only they would stop this stubbornness and be a couple in truth! Demelza and Malcolm could live happily ever after and bank at Coutts! It was enough to make Hugh want to crash their heads together. Hugh nodded to Malcolm and turned to Dem. "Forgive me, ma fée. I do not mean to harass you." Dem smiled between them, Blue because he gently pushed Hugh back on her behalf and Hugh because he _did_ mean well. "Thank you, Hugh. I know you mean well, but replacing the Paynters is as much as I can cope with right now..." Hugh smiled. A proper smile. They would have a junket to watch the Grammys and she could tend her household. "A brief trip and then you'll be home. I suppose this trip might let Ross keep his hand in as well." mused Hugh. "He might do well to meet the West Coast crowd. You never know..." Dem nodded but she was uneasy. Ross spoke now and again of reviving Resurgam. If they both were working would a nanny be enough? She didn't like the idea of boarding school. To send your children away to school to live seemed savage. Hugh looked at Demelza and forced himself not to sigh. He could tell she was fretting over the idea of losing her 'househusband'. 'Why won't they get a proper nanny!' wondered Hugh. "I suppose that's enough for today..." said Hugh. They parted ways.

Ross was quiet. He played his Gibson in a bit of a melancholy. Dem did not ask until they went to bed. "Ross? What's troubling you? You've barely said two words since the children went to bed." He smiled ruefully. "Oh... I suppose I'm just out of sorts. I haven't really done much of anything these days..." Dem frowned. "You don't seem any less... Oh! You mean musically?" Ross nodded. "Other than the television spot..." He lay on his back. "Don't misunderstand me, I like being home... I suppose I'm just nervous. I don't have much going on, I won't have very much to say for myself in the States. I haven't been around music types for a while now..." Dem smiled. "You are Ross Poldark! That's enough!" Ross gave a huff of a laugh, looked to her at the edge of his pillow with a sidelong glance. "Even if I'm just a housewife?" Dem laughed. Dem's laughter cheered Ross. She thought it silly and that made him smile. He was a little at sea, going to hobnob with industry types in the largest hub of the largest market and he no longer current to any degree. Dem laughing made him feel better. "Well that makes two of us! We can be two housewives together!" laughed Dem. Ross gave a light hearted snort. "Do you think we should be allowed into the Grammys as Mrs. and Miss Poldark?" said Ross. Dem giggled. "Or two ends of a donkey," she suggested. "We would throw lots who was to be the tail!" Dem turned to give Ross a hug, whispering, "We are who we are. You are a rocker and so am I. I was at home and you are too. If we are equal in one we're equal in the other! You had a Number One!" Ross smiled, wryly. "They don't have the same charts over there. My Number One and your two top Thirty aren't quite real over there..." Dem snuggled closer and Ross brought his arm around her. "Well, they are real enough for me. Hugh just wants us to show our faces and see the Grammys. Get to know what it's like there. It will be fun! There will be parties..." Ross shook his head 'no' at his pillow. Dem laughed again. "O.K. not your kind of fun..." Malcolm can relieve you of some of the parties but you will have to be my proper date at the Grammys, no slinking off!" Ross grinned. "Yes ma'am," Ross knit his brows. "Is Malcolm bringing someone?" he asked. "No," answered Dem. "He knows some people from when he used to do session work, he's hoping to see some of them. Blue almost went to try working there. New York doesn't rate anymore somehow. He said the work was drifting to California then and Hugh says the proper music business is trying to link themselves to movies and things not just songs on the radio they want to do everything over there..." Ross smiled in consternation. Dem answered his question about Malcolm bringing a guest with more music business parroting from Armitage. It was a seamless transition that baffled him even as it was leaving her mouth. "Hugh asked Caroline to come too! He said she would help me dress for the parties. Ross' eyes widened as he asked, "Oh! Is everything Black Tie?!" Dem shook her head 'no' against the pillow. "Not everything but Hugh said you and Blue could rent tuxedos once you get there. Dem laughed lightly as Ross kept mum, not wanting a round of industry parties but bearing it for her sake. He spoke into her neck as she kissed his brow. "I wish to be with you anywhere. But the thought of L.A. makes me anxious. I'm betwixt and between..." "You're not!" said Dem. "If the Americans don't know us then we can just be ourselves. I should think L.A. won't spit us out!" Ross chuckled. "Not if it likes the taste!" Dem threaded her leg through his. A sense of comfort and restfulness came over both of them. They had not traveled together like this before and they were going to a place neither of them had been before. Even with Ross' misgivings over Hugh Armitage's deep pockets and intent it was an adventure for them both. The bed was warm, their bodies were close and Dem laughed off Ross' insecurity over his absence from the music scene. "It's new for us all, though Caroline has been in Los Angeles before. It will be fun!" said Dem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just A Housewife, from the musical Working 1977
> 
> All I am is just a housewife  
> Nothing special, nothing great  
> What I do is kinda boring  
> If you'd rather, it can wait  
> All I am is someone's mother  
> All I am is someone's wife  
> All of which seems unimportant  
> All it is is  
> Just my life
> 
> Do the laundry, wash the dishes  
> Take the dog out, clean the house  
> Shop for groceries, look for specials  
> God it sounds so, Mickey Mouse  
> Drop the kids off, pick the shirts up  
> Try to lose weight, try again  
> Keep the troops fed, pick their things up  
> Lose your patience, count to ten
> 
> (2..3..4..5..6..7..8..9..10  
> 4..5..6..7..8..9..)
> 
> All I am is just a housewife  
> Just a housewife, nothing great  
> What I do is "out of fashion"  
> What I feel is out of date  
> All I am is someone's mother  
> Right away I'm not too bright  
> What I do is unfulfulling  
> So the T.V. talk-shows tell me every night
> 
> I don't mean to complain at all  
> But they make you feel like you're two feet tall  
> When you're just a wife  
> (Just a housewife)  
> Nowadays all the magazines  
> Make a bunch of beans  
> Out of family life  
> (My life)  
> You're a "whiz" if you go to work  
> But you're just a jerk if you say you won't  
> (Just a housewife)  
> Women's Lib says they think it's fine  
> If the choice is mine  
> But you know they don't  
> What I do, what I choose to do  
> May be dumb to you  
> But it's not to me  
> Is it dumb that they need me there?  
> Is it dumb to care?  
> Cause I do, you see  
> And I mean, Did ya ever think,  
> Really stop and think  
> What a job it was-  
> Doing all the things  
> That a housewife does?
> 
> I'm afraid it's unimpressive  
> (All I am is someone's mother)  
> Nothing special  
> What I do is...  
> (What I do is...)  
> Unexciting.  
> (Kinda dull)  
> Take the kids here,  
> Take the kids there  
> ("Mommy..."  
> I don't mean to complain at all  
> (All I am is...  
> All I am is...)  
> Busy, busy...  
> (Everyday  
> All I am is...)  
> Like my mother...  
> (All I am is...)  
> Just a housewife
> 
> Helpmeet: A helpful partner, particularly a spouse. God chose to make Adam, the first man a "help meet" This necessarily meant "helpmeet" to be female, a wife, but it can be the other, male spouse.
> 
> Promo men: the promotional, marketing arm of the record company who's job it is to tout acts and secure airplay
> 
> Whitey Scoble: Whitehead Scoble
> 
> Coutts: Founded in 1692, it is the eighth oldest bank in the world, a U.K. private bank serving high net worth clients.


	3. Sweet Thing/Reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up is hard to do

"They d'say it's full o film stars!" said Prudie. Los Angeles, a sunny paradise of movie magic and celebrity, sounded like a grand adventure to the Paynters who wished Ross and Dem well of it and were happy to have the little'uns in Nampara with the Martin girls in tow each day. They were happy to have them back from London and Prudie was excited to think that they might meet famous people at the parties and events they would attend in the lead up to the Grammys. Jud was pleased the little'uns were in Cornwall while Ross and Dem were away in America. His joints were playing him up som'ing awful. Jud kept his own counsel but there had been distant thunder Christmas week and the animals were scurrying about like the devil were chasing them. The little'uns were better off in Cornwall with the sea near to buffer the up country weather. A deal o snow looked likely...

The weeks evaporated. Suddenly it was time for Mama and Papa to return to London. They would both be gone but only for thirteen days. Dem marked the calendar in the kitchen so they could mark the days. There were hugs and smiles. Jeremy and Clowance seemed prepared to relinquish both parents to their journey. They were in Nampara with Jud and Prudie, Jinny and Betsy would come each day as well and before one knew it Mama and Papa would be back again. Ten days in America and then, a couple days after that, Ross and Dem would return to Cornwall from London. This would be the first extended time they would have together without the children. Ross and Demelza each hoped it would bring them closer together after so many trials and acrimony. Dem wanted to be more present and give Ross more attention. She wanted to restart their marriage, make it properly strong. She could not bring herself to confess her adultery. She worked with Blue and Hugh, she was married to Ross. There must be secrecy or her band and her marriage would crumble. Ross would be devastated to be told she chose to go to bed with either of them. Admitting she'd slept with both of them was impossible. Admitting how she'd slept with both of them at once was unthinkable. Ross might not just be sad or offended, he might seek to hurt both men, beat them up, or at the very least dissolve her project. Dem could admit even if Ross did not resort to violence, he would be within his rights to do that, demand that they disband. They were a strong unit and her friends. They were having success and Hugh was confident they would rise to even higher heights. To end it all before they'd really got going would be awful. Malcolm deserved their success as much as she might, perhaps more for it was his persistence that brought it all about. To end before the album was finished, to halt Blue's dream for them when they were so close to achieving it would be a cruelty to her closest friend. Dem was cowed. To break Ross' heart the way hers felt broken when he went to Elizabeth was a shame she could not face. Ross might return to drinking or even drugs in his sadness. Demelza was frightened to risk being responsible for hurting Ross to the point he might drown his pain in bad habits. Dem would keep her own counsel and work to be good to him. Ross, for his part, hoped the trip would be a chance to give Demelza proper attention and strengthen their relationship. He hoped that being alongside Dem in her world, her work, not off the the side at their hearth watching from afar, would help. Ross felt guilt over his last interactions with Elizabeth not in the least because Dem had asked him, point blank if he had slept with Liza while she had been in New York. She had been sarcastic and bitter. He had made her so, in his cheating, in siring Valentine on top of that. Ross wanted to make Dem see that he had shed his obsession with Elizabeth, that what Dem had was ALL, all he could give her, hers alone. They would have time to themselves and they should not waste it. He would win Dem's trust and be her love. Earn her love.

The flat was silent. Jeremy, Clowance and Garrick were in Cornwall and it was just the two of them on a quiet afternoon. The refrigerator was nearly empty. There was chicken. "We could make a pie..." said Dem. Ross nodded. He had learned a little more of cooking. Made breakfast things with brisk efficiency. Baked prepared things without burning them, warmed food on the hob with no ill effects. He still looked to Dem and Prudie as the 'proper' cooks. "You will have to command me." smiled Ross. Dem smiled. "We'll do it step by step." Ross watched Dem make the pastry and smiled a victory over rolling it flat. He diced the onion carefully and Dem smiled an approval. He fried them at a gentle heat on the stove as Dem cut up the chicken and Ross marveled at how quickly the gravy thickened as he stirred it obediently, taking care that it not scorch. Too much thyme fell in for Ross took off the cap by accident rather than leave the shaker holes on. Dem argued there was no such thing as too much of a good herb and they carried on. The pie was that much more fragrant for the extra herbs and Dem sat on Ross' lap at the kitchen table while it baked. He held her and they sat quiet. She held him and they thought through some of their secrets and guilt. They thought about many things. The flat so often full of noise and talk and comings and goings was as hushed as a church. This place had been Dem's salvation when she and Garrick stole away in a truck having no idea were it was going. Dem wondered what would have happened if she had ended up in Birmingham or Sheffield... If she and Garrick had ended up round the neighborhood and never managed to leave Illugan... If Ross got his prescription later or she never ended up in that alley... His arms fit around her just right. Ross felt Dem's breathing at his neck. He had found Dem crouched in an alley. If he had nodded out and left later... If he walked a different way... If Garrick had not barked... If Dem had not had words with the man menacing her that night and he walked past unknowing... If Ross had been distracted and walked right past... Would this woman be in his arms right now? Dem lay her head at Ross' neck and Ross seemed to understand her. He lay his head at her hair. The pie scented the kitchen. Dem was warm against him and Ross understood they were in the midst of rebuilding their equilibrium. They were unbalanced recently and this trip might help them but even the trip was conceptual, not real yet. Right now they were here, in the three flat house that sheltered them in their many storms. It had been a Vennor house. It was a fortunate legacy from Ross' mother. Dem was in his arms. They awaited their pie. Their children were safe in Jud and Prudie's care. Ross and Dem would enter the new decade without the Paynters. That was weighing on them as well. They were both not too proud to admit themselves 'grufflers' and a mite needy. The Paynters forever sheltered them both, made them mind, gave them help, the sort of help and care one recieved from a parent, not a servant. They relied on their aid, the Poldarks could admit they were hard work and the Paynters never shirked it. They brought order to disorder, scolded, praised and loved them. Even when Ross and Dem made mistakes. Even when Ross and Dem made them cross or even sad the Paynters were loyal to the last and sorted out their grufflers. What would the Poldarks do with no masters to guide them? Neither Ross nor Dem felt wise enough to be their own counsel. Look what a mess they'd made of themselves already... They must find their feet, find their balance, find their way. They would not have the Paynter's shepherd's crook to right them anymore. They must grow up and let go of Prudie's apron and Jud's hand. They must find their own wisdom or the Paynters would have wasted their lives. Prudie and Jud did not intend the Poldarks to be weak as lent lilies. Ross and Dem had to live up to the Paynters standards, manage themselves and be fitty. "It smells nice, we should check on it..." said Dem. Ross nodded but he drew her closer, hugged her more, tighter. Dem swallowed down a lump. She squeezed him back. At length they stood and removed the pie from the oven. It was golden brown and smelled delicious. They left it to cool.

There was a gentle happiness between Ross and Dem as they ate their pie, had their tea and a bit of chocolate and later as they sat quiet in the lounge. "It's just ourselves..." said Dem. Ross smiled a mischief. "Yes. As it happens..." She sat on his lap. "Kiss me!" said Dem. Ross raised an eyebrow. "And then...?" Dem shook her head 'no'. "Just kissing." Ross huffed a laugh. "As you wish..." She sat on his lap and they had the interesting novelty of a 'make out session' in the lounge. They remained in their chair, Dem sitting on his lap and kissing passionately. It was... fun. Ross lavished Dem's neck with attention. Dem sat up a bit more to plunge her tongue towards him so firmly he gasped. Still room within over a decade's worth of marriage to feel a thrill from her attentions. There were no children. There were no minders. The floor was adequate for there was no one to see. No need to be quiet or spirit themselves upstairs. They did not have to stop. Ross and Dem slithered off the chair an rolled about on the floor in a casual entanglement of half undone trousers, winched aside knickers and wet mouths, questing fingers and sharp groans. A children's game gone haywire, desperate cries as even the whorls of Ross' fingerprints strained a conspiracy to coax pleasure from Dem, an agony of pleasure as Dem stroked him, teasing a bead of moisture as bright as a tear from the tip of his cock with her hand. A strange regression. A furtive sort of play they had not often indulged in for its own sake. Ross turned his head to the side. Dem was incessant, a sudden glurt of wet warmth. Ross' fingers upon her were as wet as if he'd plunged them into an overripe plum. Dem's moaning and writhing, so wet... It was fun. Strange fun. They lay side by side laughing lightly at the state they had gotten themselves in. An utter mess, his trousers, her knickers, the rug, their hands. It was the sort of desperation one might seek in the back of a car or hidden away in the tall grass. A silliness between them in an empty house. They were not parents or employers. They might have been grufflers but the Paynters were not here either. It was an aperitif. They had little trouble making love in truth shortly after. They began again almost directly. Laughing themselves back into kisses. Kissing themselves back into a crescendo. Dem lay on her back and felt pleasure enough that her eyes rolled up briefly, Ross quickened to hold her there as he watched the whites of her eyes flash, as he felt her so wet around him and their bodies so attuned to each other's climax as his eyes closed. Finished in truth now. Spent. They caught their breath and stared at each other, this low at the floor they could feel a draft from beneath the front door in the hall. Cold air that was fresh and revived them at the short filaments of the carpet and the warmth of their bodies at the points where they touched. The slippery pillow of each other's hair and amusement mirrored in each other's eyes. Ross chuckled. "When the cat's away..." Dem giggled. "I think we need a bath..." 

With care, after catching up with themselves, they tidied the evidence. They discarded their clothes to be washed in the morning. They drew a bath. Ross and Dem sat in a hot bath, a habit of ther marriage they had fallen out of. They sat in a mode of silent philosophy. The sharp scents of sex soaked away save a half remembered fragrance of Dem upon Ross' fingers. The secrets they would not share with each other alongside the moments between them that only they knew and would tell no one else. There was peace between them. Ross lay back in the tub, Dem fit just so in front of him, damp at his chest, wet at her back. An ancestral seat. An older meditation. Ross and Dem in their bathtub. Just sitting. Just loving. An appreciation of how two people can lay close and feel love. They had turned away from this ritual in recent years. It buoyed them now. A hot bath on a cold night after wrestling about in a happy mischief, fallen to the floor from their chair in an unguarded lust. Ross brought his arms around her and Dem brought her hands to hold round him. Ross and Dem were an unlikely pair. Even in their trials and heartaches they remained a pair. Of lovers. Of friends. Before all, first and foremost, Ross and Dem had been friends. That thread held even when the other frayed. In their marriage Ross and Dem had survived a number of storms -most of them of Ross' making or tragic twists of fate. They were, unknowingly, entering a storm of Dem's to be borne. In the difficulties to come their primary bond of friendship would be important. They were casting about for balance in this moment, the future unseen. They achieved a balance in this moment. They were sated and clean. They were amused and relaxed. They dried off quickly for the night was cold. They brushed their teeth, talked of ordinary things. They would pack in the morning. The bed was warm. Their bodies were warm. They fell asleep. 

In this house was a tattered paper bag, so old the paper felt silky, almost like fabric. It sat on the highest shelf in the closet of their bedroom. It had been Ross' bedroom and the suits that no longer fit him, relics from his salad days as a young Mod, had been packed away in Nampara. The closet held a myriad of Ross and Dem's recent, formal clothes, floor length dresses, suits in the contemporary style as well as the slim 60s cut Ross still favored. Untouched but sitting quietly like a talisman or a witches' charm, a brittle handful of dried cornflowers lay at the highest shelf of the clothes closet. The petals were blue tinged with brown, shrunken and shriveled at their stems like the skeletal remains on a flower, tight at the tips of what had been fresh blooms. Desiccated and arid stems frozen between being stick and straw, devoid of all moisture. Stray petals lay at the bottom of the bag like ancient confetti, tired and dry. Old stray leaves shaken to the inner surface of the bag in dry, green dust. Ross did not disturb them. Dem did not disturb them. They both knew the bag was there, at the highest shelf in the closet. It peeked over the edge of the shelf, just so, when they had cause to retrieve or replace clothes there. They both knew it was there. They did not tempt fate. They would not disturb the bag, not risk the wrath of the spirits who guarded them. That other Ross and Dem who made love with no fear and no conception that best laid plans can go wrong. The spiritual remnants of a far away memory of a wedding. The Poldarks were not religious but they each kept faith. The Poldarks loved each other but they still both failed. Failed the test, failed their trial. Broke their vows. Broke their hearts. The vows they pledged in Caxton Hall were broken. Ross and Dem each had shame, disappointment and secrets over this. But they both also had faith in an overarching truth that might spare them true failure. Might redeem his feet of clay, her feet of clay. Ross and Dem made no vows in the Long Field. They made no promises. They made love under the moon and the stars. They made love as they greeted the sun. They joined upon the land itself, blessed the land, became its holy sacrifice and its blessing. Became blessed in its sight. That other Ross and Dem, innocent and consecrated under the moon, the stars and the sun were the household gods that Ross and Dem held dear. They sought their favor and assistance. They feared their wrath. Neither Ross nor Dem dared to handle the tattered paper bag at the highest shelf of the closet. There was no discussion or agreement. They each, independent of the other, felt they had sinned too much, lost the right, feared they might taint them and render them powerless. The dried flowers had witnessed the Poldarks' love, their frailties, their tragedies and heartache. They were a potent reminder that this union began in a stark honesty that might yet redeem their missteps and mistakes. The cornflowers on the highest shelf in the bedroom closet that blessed this house. Ross and Dem let them be but they believed in their magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Thing/Reprise, David Bowie 1972
> 
> It's safe in the city, to love in a doorway  
> To wrangle some screens from the door  
> And isn't it me, putting pain in a stranger?
> 
> Like a portrait in flesh, who trails on a leash  
> Will you see that I'm scared and I'm lonely?  
> So I'll break up my room, and yawn and I  
> Run to the centre of things  
> Where the knowing one says
> 
> Boys, boys, its a sweet thing  
> Boys, boys, its a sweet thing, sweet thing  
> If you want it, boys, get it here, thing  
> 'Cause hope, boys, is a cheap thing,  
> Cheap thing
> 
> I'm glad that you're older than me  
> Makes me feel important and free  
> Does that make you smile, isn't that me?  
> I'm in your way, and I'll steal every moment
> 
> If his trade is a curse, then I'll bless you  
> And turn to the crossroads, and hamburgers, and...
> 
> Boys, boys, its a sweet thing  
> Boys, boys, its a sweet thing, sweet thing  
> If you want it, boys, get it here, thing  
> 'Cause hope, boys, is a cheap thing,  
> Cheap thing
> 
> Is it nice in your snow storm, freezing your brain?  
> Do you think that your face looks the same?  
> Then let it be, it's all I ever wanted  
> It's a street with a deal, and a taste  
> It's got claws, it's got me, it's got you ...  
> 


	4. Sharp Dressed Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well turned out

Hugh stared at the luggage cart and despaired of them both. Ross seemed to believe that an U.S. Army sack was a suitable suitcase. Malcolm seemed to believe his one suitcase was enough. How could the one suitcase hold ten days worth of clothes? Their heavy coats, needed in cold, old Britain, too much and unnecessary in California, slopped about over the luggage. They could not pack those coats, no room. "How on earth...?" said Hugh, turning to Ross, scandalized. "How can you have gotten to the age you are without proper luggage?!" Ross shrugged. "It's never gotten lost. It holds all my things. I've been to at least seven different countries with it and it's served its purpose!" Hugh shook his head in disbelief. Ross crossed his arms in the security of his position. He had toured all over the U.K. and Europe with that bag. It had signs of wear, clearly been through the wars. Anyone who considered it unsuitable had no claim on Ross' opinion or consideration. He looked Hugh up and down. He must have had a black trench coat for every climate and occasion. A polo shirt that suggested the casual through the lens of a man who inhaled and exhaled formality and wealth. Trousers in a warm weather weave but still wool, shoes as polished and shiny as the lenses of his dark glasses. Hugh in the warm confines of Los Angeles was just as _Hugh_ as any other time Ross had seen him. Hugh looked Ross up and down. Black tee shirt, black jeans disappearing into tall, black leather boots. Defiant. "It's just as well we rent clothes here! Did you bring a suit?!" Ross smiled. "Yes, Hugh. And I'll have you know it is suspended in the middle, between everything else and is sharp as a tack." Hugh crossed his arms. "I cannot begin to believe that!" Dem came alongside Ross, wearing one of Ross' linen shirts and a long purple skirt. Distressed by the sensation of heat at her neck, the warmth tented underneath her hair, she asked Caroline to help her braid it into one plait at the back. It helped free her neck and made her eyes seem twice their size as well as letting her neck rise forth from the neckline of her blouse strong and slender like the white inner heart of a flower. Hugh longed to place a blade sharp bird's feather at the top of her head, like a native maiden, and stare at the perfection of her. "Believe it Hugh!" smiled Dem. "Ross has a good technique! He was a Mod!" Malcolm laughed like a drain at Red's defense of Ross' duffle bag. "And you, Malcolm! Is that truly all you brought?!" asked Hugh. Blue nodded as Red grinned. Ross looked between the three of them. This would be an interesting trip. "Aye! Ee said we was rentin' the gear..." Hugh's eyebrows raised over his sunglasses. "The suits, yes! How can you possibly have enough clothes for ten days?" Malcolm grinned. "Caroline is takin' Red to the shops!" Here Caroline who had been monitoring the conversation in silent interest inclined her head with a sphinx like smile under a man's Panama hat, razor sharp in its tight weave and pale straw. Her hair had extra volume beneath it and her white sundress was casually tied with a man's striped tie instead of a sash, bright green and blue, like an afterthought. She might have snatched from the floor from a jumble of a lover's cast off clothes. It was provocative and stylish and her shoes matched the blue at her waist. Malcolm tapped on his head with his forefinger to suggest himself clever. "I can buy new clothes 'ere! An' a case too!" Hugh smirked. Malcolm was ever himself in a liberty print shirt and jeans. That was, admittedly, a wise plan. Hugh knew Hansel and Gretel liked exploring together and L.A. was full of clothes shops. "It's just as well," shrugged Ross. "Between our things, yours, Caroline and Dem's we would need a third trolley if we had any more!" Hugh sniffed. "One should have expected. And anyway, my trunk was shipped direct to the hotel..." It was clear Hugh had no idea how self important and haughty he sounded as he informed them of this. Caroline grinned at her friend, Hugh so forever himself. Ross rolled his eyes as Dem and Malcolm cooed "Ooooooooh!" pretending themselves impressed before falling against each other laughing. Ross and Caroline watched Dem bury her face at Malcolm's shirt sleeve as they laughed together, Malcolm resting his head near hers as they sought to calm their humor. They stepped apart with jolly grins towards Hugh. Hugh rolled his eyes but it was unseen for his glasses were too dark. He pointed to them and turned to Ross. "Do they do that to you too?" Hugh's voice had gone up an octave. Ross grinned. Armitage asking that, half in jest, half annoyed, was a strange delight. No one had suggested to Ross that Dem and Malcolm might gang up together, suggesting the conspiracy of being the butt of their joke before now and it made him laugh. He felt apart from them too in their friendship sometimes, a commonality with Hugh he had not expected but also not, a difference between them. Dem and Malcolm did not tease Ross that way. Ross grinned and answered, "I just leave them to it..."

The ride to the hotel was a happy chatter of everyone talking at once and admiring the scenery. Blue squinted at the sky. "I think we'll need umbrellas..." Caroline shook her head 'no'. "That isn't rain clouds," Blue looked again. The sky was grey. "They ain't?" Caroline smiled. "That's smog. The sun will burn through it and the sky will clear..." Dem frowned and looked up in a kind of awe. Malcolm and Ross looked up, heartily disturbed. Hugh and Caroline grinned at each other after looking between the three of them. This would be an interesting trip. "Eh? That ain't clouds? Are ee sure?" Caroline nodded. "Yes. It will be blue skies before you know it!" And like a movie the smog lifted and a blue pretty sky kissed the tips of the palm trees and surrounded the buildings, some plain like an ordinary high street and some grand and elegant. They were in a quite grand hotel. Hugh, perpetually willing to upgrade his surroundings himself if at all possible, was content to let Warner run everything for the place would house many of the corporate out of towners. When in Rome... This was a business junket and he and Hansel and Gretel would play by the rules. That would be good for they would learn the ropes of the business. His band would have this trip on Warner's dime, not expect the admittedly indulgent generosity Hugh showed them in New York. New York was his home, they were his guests as well as his bandmates. That was informal and private for all they were working. Warner paid for the studio time but Hugh felt no sense of impropriety at footing the bulk of the trip. The per diem, the studio time, the cocktail party and most of the photography were Warner. Hugh had paid for the Plaza and most all of their leisure himself. He considered it money well spent. It had been more fun than Hugh had in years, watching Demelza and Malcolm have the entire city as a playground and joining in their fun. All their fun... He looked to Ross, Demelza at his side, happy. He looked at Malcolm bringing mirth to Caroline as he asked her questions about California. The landscape of lonely stretches of highway and sudden civilization sped past the windows. Only a few months prior Hugh had debauched his band members thoroughly. Demelza had set the night into motion but the agenda was his own doing... Ross was none the wiser. Ross was a leveler. Hugh could not tempt himself into mischief with Demelza's husband in tow... Hugh blinked himself back to the present in his thoughts. He had gotten off track, the junket... Yes. Now they would play by the rules. Hugh would show them his paperwork and teach them the accounting he would itemize on the this junket so they might know how to manage themselves. They would be without him at some point and he did not want Demelza and Malcolm fleeced or cheated if they worked with someone else. When they worked with someone else... Hugh hoped they would keep performing. He hoped there was an afterlife so he could watch it happen. Hugh wanted them to keep going, not hide their light. They were too talented to stop at the point he could no longer continue, through illness, from death. Small steps. Show them the junket accounting. Hugh was content to believe he would have little reason to spend his own funds in Los Angeles, a proper junket at Grammy week when WEA was prone to excess and perks anyway. He would make sure the clothes Ross and Malcolm had were suitable though, intervene if required, money is for spending after all....

Ross enjoyed watching Dem looking wide eyed at everything and then smiling brightly at him. They were on their own, no parental duties. Jud and Prudie were still at Nampara. That they had the security of knowing the Paynters were at home made this even more relaxing, a vacation. Traveling without the children once the Panyters retired would be anxiety producing. Ross was happy to be here when he thought of it from that perspective. They could have fun and freedom in a new place before life changed irrevocably for them. He barely remembered a time when Jud and Prudie were newly hired. They were a constant in his life... "Ross!" smiled Dem. He blinked himself out of his thoughts. They were here. An Art Deco jewel of a hotel. Much, much nicer than some of the places he'd been in when he toured with Resurgam. A large hotel with an outdoor pool. The lobby could be mistaken for an exclusive club room. Small round tables flanked by deep, thick upholstered chairs to talk over business, to gossip in small knots of twos and threes were in various places. Other chairs lined the walls as the carpeted entrance doubled as a runway that showed the guests to good effect as they entered or left. The front desk was like its own planet, vast and staffed with an army of concierge to prepare and provide any whim or service to their guests. The bar, accessible from the lobby or the street, was chic and modern, all glass and chrome and artful. Their belongings were spirited away to their rooms. Ross noticed the curiosity of others as they came through the lobby. They were all, everyone in the lobby, of interest, people of merit in this town for specific reasons, but people wondered at Caroline's elegance and statuesque beauty, Hugh's cold authority in his dark trench coat, dark glasses, Malcolm and Dem looking all about like two naïfs, all excitement and wide eyes, and Ross bringing up the rear being, well, himself. They were arriving in a bit of mystery to those around them. _'Who are they?'_ said the curious eyes of others. They fit in and stood out. They were of interest. Ross was satisfied and wary. He had come to expect a certain amount of attention, in his fame, in his demeanor. People who simply related to the cut of his clothes, the length of his hair whether in approval or scorn. It was ordinary to be noticed when you were different, other. It was double edged sword sometimes. It brought out gawpers and loose talk. Ross hoped for a quiet trip. America was a world away from England. There would be other English people here who might know all the gossip and old rot of Ross and Demelza's life in the English public eye. There was a faint chance of old gossip rearing its head but the US was a different beast and treated many acts in Britain with a sort of indifference. The Billboard and Cashbox charts were entirely different to the U.K.'s. One could be quite popular and well known in the U.K. and its territories and unknown here. Dem was just beginning, only just staring in England as a performer on her own terms and new to this country. Ross hoped to have a sort of vacation, as leisure, as a respite from being 'Ross n' Dem' in an English context. He wanted to be in the background, enjoy Dem's excitement in a new wonderland and eek out a sort of honeymoon. The children were back home. This place was entirely new to both of them and the luxury of a Warner Records funded junket to the Grammys awaited. Ross knew some intrusion into this ten days by others way a necessity to some degree but he hoped for a quiet trip feeling closer to Dem and Dem feeling closer to him would be possible.

"Christ! It's like a film, ain't it?!"

Ross turned in behind them all as the waited for the elevator. He smiled at Dem and Malcolm, so impressed by everything. It was instructive to see them without Jeremy and Clowance, Jinny and Betsy. Ross could see the ways Dem and Malcolm bounced off each other as friends, as band members. He idly wondered if it was something intrinsic to drummers, that Malcolm's comments occasionally reminded him of Ned's quips and asides. Something gregarious about drummers, so used to being in the back of the stage and able to be witty as a sort of recompense. Dem laughed a lot with Malcolm. She seemed as amused by him as the Martin girls often were and that was more apparent away from the kids. They were "pals". Friends in a way that Ross did not quite grasp in Malcom's hands on attitudes towards Jeremy and Clowance. One saw the similarities in their humor and Malcolm's unaware clowning. "Blue" was often humorous when he was not actively trying to be. Ross could see Caroline and Hugh admire them in the entertainment of watching the two of them digest their new surroundings, see strangers look on in good natured interest. It was charming to watch and they were so unaware that could be so as they chattered between themselves. Ross and Dem had many laughs together but not in the way she did with her drummer. He was glad of it. Ross disliked the puffery and need to feign interest in others at the parties and gatherings they would attend on this trip. He would not shirk, but he was relieved that Dem could amble about with Malcolm in the spirit of adventure Ross found difficult to maintain. "Red and Blue" were well matched in their attitudes, ready to explore this wonderland. Were his faculties dulled or atrophied, he wondered, because he had no such vivid appreciation as them? He could not work up such excitement over the trip. But Ross could find pleasure in Dem's pleasure and was glad she had a friend to share that wonder and that excitement with. They held hands. Dem leaned against Ross as they waited for the elevator. Malcolm spoke to Caroline but they were linked. They held hands and Dem squeezed Malcolm's hand as the elevator arrived. An acknowledging that they release each other without speaking. He let go. She let go. She turned to the opening elevator and smiled at Ross. Ross was fascinated. They had a secret language in their fingers, an established etiquette. They walked forward and filled up the dark, wood paneled elevator. An old, wrought iron caged elevator car, still operable, was further away facing the mouth of the elevator bay, flanked and presented by large pots of spiky plants and ficus trees at the end hall where on waited. Elegant benches, upholstered in cognac brown leather and a bank of pay phones lined one side. Fire doors and stairwells were off to the sides in that direction. That antique lift was utilized for films for it authenticity as well as accessing the private quarters of the hotel owner on the top floor. The four others were modern and one larger than the rest, for staff, for heavy loads. Ross, Dem, Caroline, Hugh and Malcolm, each resolutely themselves and a gang together of some sort, smiled an appreciation of each other as they were whisked up to their floor.

They went their separate ways. Hugh, Malcolm and Caroline had their own rooms midway in the corridor from the elevators. Ross and Dem had a room together which put them further down the hallway from the others. The footprint of the double bed rooms lay at the other portion of hallway. Natural light glowed at windows on either side of the elevator hall but the corridors were electric lit, no windows there. The shock of so much natural light as Ross opened the door to the room made them both start with surprise. Ross had a momentary tangle with an odd metal rod with a rubber capped bottom and a sort of molded horseshoe at its top, a brace of some sort. It fell forward as they came in and he bumped against it. After some puzzlement they saw it was an extra brace that fit under the doorknob as an extra protection, over and above the locks on the door. It would wedge the door and not allow someone in the hall to open it. He set it back in its corner between the door and the dresser. It was a bright room with a modest view of the courtyard and the adjoining pool. Nobody was using the pool though people were sunning themselves and talking in small knots at cocktail tables. The thick glass windows did not open. The small patio with a sliding glass door was at the other end of the room. One could see palm trees that obscured the roads beyond. Traffic was a constant hum. Buildings in the distance would wink their lit windows at sundown. Slopes of green trees and scrub peeked beyond that. Someone's multi million dollar estate lay beyond that as a blank white wall that kept prying eyes away like a nunnery or a monastery. Layers of traffic, layers of flora, layers of privilege and blue sky shone in a diorama of Los Angeles beyond this pretty room. Floor to ceiling curtains, drawn open or closed with a rod blocked out the light of day and made the lamp light quite cozy, golden. It reminded Dem of the brass lamps in Hugh's London office, that glow of light. Ross looked about. It was handsome. A mirror went the length of one wall as a low chest of drawers sprawled at the wall by the entrance. A small cabinet bar held glasses and, whether Hugh's contrivance or a coincidence, ruby port and brandy sat at the ready amongst more ordinary spirits like gin. A table and four chairs, two of them thick club chairs. A sofa. The bed was huge and faced the door to the gigantic bathroom with a counter and a separate make up table with a halo of white vanity bulbs around it. A separate shower stall, a tub and a sparkling finish of glossy tiles throughout. Dem could see it as equal to the Plaza in New York but an entirely different attitude. The East and the West in America were very different. Luxury abound on each coast but the aesthetic here was more obviously designed to impress than New York. There was a utilitarian, "just so" sort of feeling in the Plaza. A whisper of "Our Sort Of People". The best of everything but within reason, a puritan correctness in New York that was not showy for all its obvious costliness and rarified clientele. Los Angeles provided a luxury and abundance that was palpable, it relished being more. Being over the top. Any part of the room could be its own movie and if that was the case make the most of it. Ross looked about the place. Closed the curtains. Ross would embark on a mission to procure his formal wear in two hours. Ross did not intend to waste a huge bed and a willing wife in two hours grace.

Malcolm, Ross and Hugh hired suits from a chic shop. Ross rejected the modern line, so chunky and wide lapels, too much like old gangster film costumes. Ross kept to a slimmer style and looked distinguished, not to say out of date. Malcolm met modern style mid way. Not as 60s Ross, not as boxy as the newest styles and stubborn insistence on his own ties for all but the tuxedo. Hugh favoured a 30s style as the height of elegance and that served him well for the vogue for the 30s and 40s had become ascendant again in fashion circles and also avoided wide lapels of modernity. There were many events and they would be well dressed for all of them. Hugh explained the rentals as an expense against the advance. They leveraged a small amount so far and it was, to some degree, a legitimate part of their promotion work. Ross was circumspect. Hugh was not spending his own money and his purchase of so many gifts of instruments -drums for Malcolm, guitars for Dem- Hugh gave them room to charge Warner in a conventional travel expense. Hugh, as manager and an indulgent band member, had not tapped the advance to the degree he could have. The rental of their suits was a business expense Ross could agree with. He was amused when they returned to the hotel to see that Hugh sat with Dem and Malcolm in his room, Caroline draped across the sofa making small talk with Ross as the three of them sat at the table by the balcony door like a tutor going over a lesson with his students. With patience and answering all the questions Dem and Malcolm put to him, Hugh showed the accounting he would turn in to Warner for the junket. Ross relaxed in a club chair by Caroline and they spoke a bit about London, about Cornwall. They had few acquaintances in common but Ross in is work with the band and Caroline in her work managing her boutique and hob nobbing with various creative people found much to chat about. In this pleasant atmosphere, a lux hotel room with a nectar like glass of American iced tea, tasting of lemon and so unlike hot English tea, gentle conversation in two parts of the room, one could feel life was only ever sweet. The natural order of things to have every thing around you seem like a movie where you were the star. Ross was appreciative of Hugh walking Dem and Malcolm through the information. Hugh wrote the rental fees in a ledger, showed them the paper envelope that would keep all the receipts for the goods and services they would claim, counselling them to take the time to write them as they happened each day or couple of days so nothing was missed. This also avoided a mass of receipts in a pile all at once to be sorted out at the end in a marathon of paperwork. Telling them to keep tabs against the specified amout allotted. Warner had a some idea of what costs were legitimate and allotted a sum free and clear that they would write off in the dark inner workings of their own accountancy. The suit rental was not from that pool. They had the right to tap the advance and Hugh explained they should do so with an eye toward value and getting the recordings made. With a bit of modesty Hugh mentioned as a band they had not been lavish with the advance from Warner, only claiming the ordinary rights of working and even that sparingly. Not many other signed acts had a wealthy sponsor like Hugh to step over the advance with his own money. Hugh's willingness to be generous gave them more advantage as a band, conserving their advance by purchasing things outright, and he managed to be modest about this shadow role he provided as much as one could do. Red and Blue listened and asked questions, learned and had food for thought. Hugh was giving them sound advice and helping them understand their money in relation to the label. His money in relation to the advance. The fact that he was willing to do this and they were benefited without Hugh lording it over them both, proving himself a friend and ally as well as the bass player. Ross watched carefully and approved of Hugh's explanations. Ross still didn't quite trust Hugh, but he seemed above board and that was positive. Ross had left that sort of thing to the label, EMI, when he had been performing. Ross could admit Resurgam might have gotten further as a band if they had a manager. He knew some bands got royally fleeced by their managers. Ross had begun a campaign years earlier to demand the sort of clear accounting and better terms that Dem and Malcolm seemed to be getting with Armitage's intervention. Ross had trod on too many toes in that enterprise. The Warleggan's harassment and the trial were direct retribution for it. It had a chilling effect. It stopped the momentum in its tracks. Dem was fortunate Hugh had a stake in her success as a band member as well as his deep pockets. Many in the music business still fell prey to management that just about colluded with the label to feast on the lion share of the money. Ross still had misgivings about Armitage but, in this moment, he was a conscientious help to Dem and Malcolm, making them aware of the business sides of things. That was good.

They ate dinner in the hotel. The dining room was like a medieval castle. Stone arches framed floor to ceiling windows, many of the tables farthest back were round, designed to accommodate six to ten people with tall, throne like chairs. They were dark wood, padded in red leather, nailed in its place with brass brads dotted along the edges. Their rectangular backs were so tall slender people might not be seen in them from behind. Most of the dining room were square and rectangular white cloth covered tables with ordinary chairs. Hugh was amused to find out the walls of the place with its grand windows and carved decorative elements like gargoyles were brought over from Europe piece by piece, reassembled in this hotel and actually spared the workmanship that had been a monastery from destruction in World War Two. Caroline, Dem and Malcolm talked excitedly about the many places Caroline knew to shop for clothes in the area. Hugh and Ross both bit down on a laugh at Dem and Malcolm being disappointed that they would not go shopping right the next day. They looked like cartoon characters when they pulled a face of disappointment at the same time. Caroline told them firmly that the first slate of dress buying was strictly "no boys allowed". Demelza and Malcolm were both put out at this even as Caroline promised they would shop, all three, later. Hugh and Ross exchanged a glance of humor at this. Hugh raised his wine in Ross' direction and Ross raised his glass of water. Ross was being careful. A nightcap tonight. A drink or two at the various evenings. Hold your drink... The food was delicious. Very American which meant one might eat anything at all, a steak or a burger, a plate of pasta, poached chicken or an omelet, a lobster tail or a fish, head still on in a resignation to its capture. Potatoes were its own food group here. One might have them mashed, with or without cheese, baked practically unseen beneath a thick dollop of sour cream speckled with chives or a strange mass of melted cheese in a yellow not found in nature and a confetti of chopped bacon. Steak fries, chips cut thick like planks of wood, French fries, thinner and addictive in their crispy outside, snowy white, hot floury inside and salty taste. Pomme souffle, little ovals fried like puffy little pillows. Salads were also exhaustive and occasionally rivaled a full meal in their lavish constructions of dressings, egg, meat and fish. One hesitated to name it a salad at all! The greenery was almost an afterthought! Spinach without hot cream upon it, broccoli without melted cheese over it was, seemingly, an illegality and one expected authorities on hand would inspect kitchens and levy fines to insure that dairy products were dispensed upon all American vegetables as proof of patriotism. Tomato juice was a noble beverage and one of many in an exhaustive drink list. Adults routinely drank colas and fizzy drinks at their meals with the uneffected zeal of young children quaffed in viciously iced glasses. Cold as the Arctic! Some diners were even overheard to demand more ice! Should the parade of heavy food stuffs truly not be one cup of tea, a "Dietetic" menu provided plain cooked food and steamed vegetables. It was a junket. Caution could be thrown to the wind. Steaks and fish were ordered. Caroline and Hugh dispatched their whole fish in its daydream bed of parsley studded with lemon wedges like jewels on an oval plate, just so. Ross, Dem and Malcolm tucked into their steaks pipping hot, charred on a grill and releasing a hot blush of blood tinted juice as the serrated knife pulled across it at a waiting fork. Malcolm found it to be like a Manhattan diner dressed in its Sunday best. Ross and Dem recognized kinship in some of the old steak houses in New York, but on LSD, as if a sober place like Keens had gone mad and jumbled its menu for a children's party. Hugh found it wonderfully _American_. And Caroline was of a mind to live like a Roman when in Rome. Fine dining was possible in L.A., rarified elegance existed here. The hotel offered well prepared food for all its combinations and dizzying choice. It was fun. A microcosm of all that was abundant in a young country and a city built on entertainment and dreams. They finished with ice creams and coffee and visited in Caroline's room before retreating to their own quarters for the night. Dem lay on the bed in a dreamy contentment. Ross pulled a small edge of the curtain aside and looked down at the courtyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharp Dressed Man, ZZ Top 1983
> 
> Clean shirt, new shoes  
> And I don't know where I am goin' to  
> Silk suit, black tie  
> I don't need a reason why
> 
> They come runnin' just as fast as they can  
> 'Cause every girl crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man
> 
> Gold watch, diamond ring  
> I ain't missin' not a single thing  
> Cufflinks, stick pin  
> When I step out I'm gonna do you in
> 
> They come runnin' just as fast as they can  
> 'Cause every girl crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man
> 
> Top coat, top hat  
> And I don't worry 'cause my wallet's fat  
> Black shades, white gloves  
> Lookin' sharp, lookin' for love
> 
> They come runnin' just as fast as they can  
> 'Cause every girl crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man
> 
> naïfs: innocents
> 
> LSD: Lysergic acid diethylamide, a hallucinogenic drug
> 
> Keens: In New York City since the 1800s, famous for its mutton chop, rather than beef


	5. Golden Road To Unlimited Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were young and they had each other  
> Who could ask for more?

"Why have a swimming pool if no one uses it?" said Ross looking down at it from their room. Dem shrugged, even as she was lying supine on the bed. "It's the middle of the night. Why should the pool be open now? They had a lifeguard. Maybe they can't have it open with no lifeguards." She lay across the bed excited to go shopping with Caroline tomorrow. Ross closed the curtain and turned to watch Dem loll about on the bed. She stretched and crossed her legs. She had a contented, dreamy look on her face. The warm weather and glamour, so different to England or New York gave an enjoyable sense of newness. That sense of newness of their surroundings freed Ross and Dem to regain the playfulness they had known when they first became lovers. Before the children, before the heartache, before Ross' period of ruin that so strained things between them. They set their feet on a golden road. A path back to the beginnings of things. He was sure Dem felt the same, felt it too. She looked at Ross the way she used to. He adored it. Ross smiled. A fancy struck him and he would heed it. "Dem," She turned her head to look at him. "Get your swimsuit..." He watched her. He was enchanted anew. She pushed a stray curl of hair from her eyes. "But Ross! The pool is closed!" He grinned. "All the better."

After a bit of needling they stole down quietly to the pool using the stairs. The door to the pool was locked but a second door, perhaps used by staff of the hotel was unlocked and unattended. Ross led Dem by the hand. She wore her bikini and a cotton tunic with the silly sort of flip flops, thonged sandals that were so prevalent over here. Ross had canvas plimsolls with no socks and swim trunks with the plain black tee shirt he had worn during the day. "Shhhhh... " he raised one eyebrow and placed one finger to his lips. She giggled and he gave her a kiss on the mouth. They stood at the edge of the entrance with the pool beyond and enjoyed the spontaneity of it. They gave each other a knowing look of happiness. They walked towards the pool. The chaise lounge chairs that surrounded the pool were placed in a stack at the far side. There was a rustle of leaves in the tall trees, heard but unseen. It was a clear night. Not many stars in the sky. Too many bright lights to see as many stars as nighttime sky at Nampara. One expected the denizens of Los Angeles believed the stars who walked among them in this industry town were sufficient. It was a clear night and they were breaking the rules. The frisson of knowing they might get caught made Ross merry and mischievous. Dem was drawn into his mood and they laughed gently as they approached the steps to the shallow end. Dem took off the tunic. She often swam covered up when she was away from home. Dem was still little self conscious of the scars on her back, less of a concern at Nampara with only Ross to see. They were faint but visible up close. It was night and just Ross. She caught the lightheartedness of Ross' idea and slipped her feet out of her wonky foam sandals. She set the tunic next to them, poolside, and stood up to face Ross, smiling. In the ambient light from the walls of the building, Ross drank in the sight of his Dem in a red bikini, bright in the daylight but maroon to some degree in what little light there was. She was as slender and lithe as she ever was even after three children. Her hair framed her face and shoulders and her navel begged for a kiss. She was smiling. "Your turn." she whispered. Ross could hear her smile in her whisper. He smiled and took off his shirt laying it next to his shoes and then, with a devilish grin, took off the trunks. "Ross!" whisper Dem, eyes wide and her smile widening like a flower blooming. She put both hands over her mouth, wanting to laugh. He stepped into the pool, entirely naked and swam in the dark water to the middle of the pool. What light there was made glints on the water and the pool tiles seemed bright as the water and Ross' silhouette were dark. Ross ducked down and then emerged, careful not to splash loudly. Smiling. Small glints in his eyes, shaking his wet hair about, eyes flashing with warmth and humor. Dem stepped forward in the steps under the water on the shallow side. "Ross!" she whispered, "You're mad!" Ross swam back to her. She couldn't help but admire him. Ross was beautiful and as at home in the water as on land. Ross was near enough to stand, waist submerged in the shallow end. He smiled and whispered, "I dare you!" "No Ross," whispered Dem with a giggle. "Anyone could see!" Ross stepped forward, stepped towards her and his groin left the water. They giggled. Ross tilted his chin up, grinning. If anyone could see so be it... He laughed quietly and swam back to the deeper end. He tread water and waited to see if Dem would take his challenge. She did not. She swam towards him and they met at the deep end. Ross kissed her nose and whispered "Fraidy cat!" Dem giggled and splashed him gently. They tried not to make too much noise. They darted about, chased, teased each other. Ross backed her into the deep corner and she wrapped her legs around him as he held the edge of the pool and kissed her. Pecked at her neck and shoulders, whispered promises of what would occur when they returned to their room. He released her and watched as she swam back to the steps. Dem was charmed but she knew Ross was playing with fire. She pulled his swim trunks in with her from the side of the pool. At the very least Ross would not exit the pool as naked as he went in. He swam to the shallow side. They were by the steps. They stood taller than the water and he walked Dem backwards against the wall of the pool. He raised his eyebrows as if to say, 'What shall we do now...?' Dem giggled forward into a kiss. She kissed him and he growled into her mouth as she put her arms around Ross, trunks set back next to them by the side of the pool. The night was warm around them, trees rustled in the breeze and a faint hums of cars going to wherever they were going. Ross tilted his head at a pivot and kissed her more deeply. They kissed hungrily. Dem pulled one of the straps of her top down to offer a breast to Ross and he circled the nipple with his finger before he ducked down to kiss it greedily. Dem threw back her head in the enjoyment of his attentions and clutched his backside with her hands. He growled against her. Ross whispered, breathlessly as he kissed his way back to her mouth. "We should take this upstairs..." He slanted his mouth over hers as she wriggled the strap back up. She grinned out of the kiss as they smiled into each others eyes. "You are incorrigible!" she grinned. She kissed his nose and handed him his trunks. They looked at each other fondly as he put them on, the strange mixture of desire and affection for which there is no substitute. "And you love me for it!" whispered Ross. Dem's smile gave her answer. They left the pool and dried themselves as best they could for they only brought one towel that soon became too wet to be helpful. They dressed and crept back to their room by the stairs rather than the elevators.

Dem woke pleasantly relaxed and stretched. Arms, legs, toes, stretched in a lovely pull of all her muscles as she lay in bed. Ross had already gotten up. He was in the bathroom. She turned to look at him as she arranged the sheet back over herself. Ross could see her in the mirror he was using to shave. It could tilt on a hinge and he amused himself by watching her, half finished shaving. He called out, "Just because I'm shaving doesn't mean to say I'm finished with you!" Dem could just see Ross at the bathroom beyond the bed. He was in naught but a tightly wrapped towel at his waist. She could see he was angling the mirror back and forth. He could see her it seemed. "Oh really?" asked Dem willing to play a little, tease a little. She began to roll about the bed, wrap herself in the white sheet of the bed peeked over the edge of the hem covering even her nose. Ross knit his brows. Rather than expose herself Dem had wound herself like a cocoon or a mummy. Two bright green eyes looked over the edge of the sheet and under her red hair. Dem blinked a mischief she could tell was working because Ross had worked the mirror into a position that showed her to good effect. He was stock still, the razor poised but forgotten in his hand. She purred. Her legs rubbed against each other under the sheets they roiled suggestively. Ross watched. Her arm had pulled free and she stared forward guilessly. She might have been alone in the room. Ross might not have been there. She stared forward like a trance pulled the sheet down to free her mouth and sucked on her forefinger. Ross set the razor down on the counter, face still frosted on one side with soap and turned to watch her properly at the door. She lay with a finger in her mouth and he watched slack jawed as it slipped free of her lips and disappeared beneath the sheet as she rolled to lay on her back, The surface of the sheets around Dem undulated. That which was her breasts, her legs, her hand discernable within her wrappings. Ross watched her hand travel lower, still and then a contented sigh escape her lips as her face emerged from the top of the sheets and she watched him watch her. He stared at her as hand began moving under the sheet. Ross groped blindly for a towel, turned to grab a towel and rub the soap from his face. He approached the bed. He stood over her as she watched him watching the movement of her hand under the sheet. He stood over her, lay his hand over hers. He felt her moving. They stared at each other. She was touching herself and all remained unseen. Ross' lips were parted and he stared. She watched his groin and it made him even more aroused. _The things she does to me..._ He had a towel tucked around his waist. Ross pulled it free and it fell to the floor. Ready should his lady require assistance. Dem watched him. Ross sat gingerly on the bed, watching the sheets secreting what was so obvious. He lay a hand on top of hers, still moving. He imagined the moistened fingertip beneath his hand, imagined turning it aside and... Ross' hand was a gentle weight upon hers as she continued, steadily stroking herself. He was aroused, feeling her movements with his hand and sat watching her in a trance. She was making him excited. That was making her excited. Ross was torn between wanting to see her response as she finished in truth or take over, free her from the sheets and love her there and then, either choice having strong erotic potential. She was wrapped up in sheets like a mummy, dreamy and dazed looking in her occupation and made irresistible there by. "Are you close?" asked Ross. She fluttered her eyelashes, half in jest but also pleasure. Wanting to tease him and nearing the end in a sudden acceleration. The ghost weight of Ross' hand resting on top of her own, his dark sounding whisper was more arousing somehow. "Yes..." Dem closed her eyes gave a throaty little groan. She opened them suddenly because Ross' hand had vanished. He began to crawl upon the bed. Kissing her neck as he pulled at the sheets. She was so rolled within them he struggled to undo her. She arched her chin giggling, giving him better access to her neck. Ross was excited by the race to release Dem before she came by herself. She was laughing and he could feel her knuckles beneath his groin. "So close..." she whispered. "Oh!" A throb. Ross watched her face. He watched her pleasure and dragged the sheets away, part of the sheet ripping as he did so. Poised over Dem, nude and a blush of pleasure making her skin glow. "You..." breathed Ross as he pushed her legs apart. 

The phone rang. They woke with a start. Ross fumbled with the receiver before he could get it to his ear. "Hello?" Dem yawned and turned to look at the clock. 9:23. "Good morning. Ah Caroline..." Dem worked to sit up and in a sudden change of mind utilized her left hand to request the receiver to Ross' amusement. "Here she is, one moment," said Ross. "Good morning, Caroline! Yes. Yes, I'll meet you in the lobby or your room? O.K. I'll see you in a bit!" Dem handed Ross the phone and he placed the receiver back in the cradle. They enjoyed a small peck of a kiss. "Good morning, Dem." smiled Ross. "Good morning! I must fly! I must wash and dress and wear my brand new shoes and go shopping with Caroline!" smiled Dem pleased to think of the day's itinerary. Ross raised an eyebrow. "Another day in the salt mines..." Dem laughed at his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Golden Road To Unlimited Devotion, The Grateful Dead 1967
> 
> See that girl, barefootin' along,  
> Whistlin' and singin', she's a carryin' on.  
> There's laughing in her eyes, dancing in her feet,  
> She's a neon-light diamond and she can live on the street.
> 
> Hey hey, hey, oh, by the way, come and (party every day)  
> Hey hey, hey, oh, by the way, come and (party every day)
> 
> Well everybody's dancin' in a ring around the sun  
> Nobody's finished, we ain't even begun.  
> So take off your shoes, child, and take off your hat.  
> Try on your wings and find our where it's at.
> 
> Hey hey, hey, come (party every day)  
> Hey hey, hey, come (party every day)
> 
> Take a vacation, fall out for a while,  
> Summer's comin' in, and it's goin' outa style.  
> Well lite up smokin' buddy, have yourself a ball.  
> Cause your mother's down in Memphis, won't be back 'till the fall.
> 
> Hey hey, hey, come right away  
> Come and join the (party every day)
> 
> Hey hey, hey, come right away  
> Come and join the (party every day)
> 
> Hey hey, hey, come right away  
> Come and join the (party every day)
> 
> Hey hey, hey, come right away  
> Come and join the (party every day)


	6. Love Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The queen and her courtiers

Boutiques were the thing. Trunk shows were also the rage. Small, curated amounts of stunning garments chosen by those with a sharp eye and a penchant for dreams, in private homes, in hotel rooms. Dem was shy at first but Caroline was with her and the other women were welcoming. Diana Ross had joined them, briefly, snapping up two Thea Porter gowns and whispering to Dem in a friendly intimacy that she meant to secure them before Liz Taylor might snatch them. Dem giggled and all in the room were charmed. Caroline counseled Dem to buy nothing here. The diaphanous, loose spangled gowns were better suited to an older woman. Caroline in her own capacity as a fashion proprietess had an 'in' with the rarified level of patronage that sold to the high folk of the L.A. firment and she placed Dem within these situations with tactical precision. Dem met the challenge, met these important people where they were. Diana Ross ceased the be a blue ink printed miniature on a Motown 45 sleeve. She was living and breathing, friendly and warm, a proper star but just herself. A star who rose from the Brewster Projects of Detroit, Michigan, as modest an start as Dem having been dragged up in Cornwall's Illugan. Able to be a star, able to be kind to a young British redhead in Grammy Week. The others, the wives of various executives found Dem to be a darling and this was more of a goal for Caroline than finding clothes to wear at this gathering. Caroling bought a blouse for herself that they not leave the hospitality of their hostess empty handed. Dem was so open and charming just placing her among the ladies in high places would set the stage for the parties to come. Caroline and Hugh and discussed this project with the zeal of Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney putting on a show. Red and Blue were their own luck, their own charm. Letting them see and be seen would be the best publicity ever. Caroline had a notion that the various events show various sides of Demelza in the lead up to being in the audience of the ceremony. To go from fashion's fantasy to high Hollywood glamour in increments. The most freewheeling of the parties would be the most over the top and then ascend day by day to a formality that would rival Grace Kelly in their Warner section seats. Demelza and Caroline would complement each other as the two women of their party, in long gowns and long gloves at the Grammys and for the first party a risque glamour of epic proportions.

Dem felt like she was in a dream. Real life was in front of her but the sun shone like a diamond in the sky and the strange looking trees towered overhead with their spiky fronds.The very pavement glowed with sunlight, bleached and reflecting the strong light up. Sunlight made the green lace overlay of Dem's shoe and their pretty blue, shangtung silk heels rival a jeweled tiara. Her foot in its pretty shoe looked detached from real life, a singular glamour against the blazing bright sidewalk. But it was her foot and her legs and her own self stepping out of the car like Cinderella from her glass carriage. The light here was astonishing! So different to New York. How vast was America? The same sun that shone so gently in Cornwall, so bright but tempered in New York, it blazed in a sharp freshness here that New York lacked somehow. It shone with more sparkle than Cornwall somehow. The same flaming planet choosing its moods and different temperaments in each place. Here it fought a dense smog each morning and blazed a triumphant victory. The sun felt like a god in Los Angeles. It presided over this entire place like a knowing eye. What glamour, sin or mischief one could contrive at night might yet be revealed in the light of an unblinking sun. Light like the movie magic that drove much of the energy here. Everyone playing their bit part and lit to perfection. Cars cruised in languor or sped like a comet. She stood with Caroline as the driver shut the door. The car door's shutting as one exited seemed final. The slate that snapped the start of the scene - Lights! Camera! Action! New York's immediacy felt like a stage play. You were in your own movie in L.A. Colors seemed brighter here. The stark silver grey of New York punctured by the colors of the trees, the people, the smells, the busy kaleidoscope of that city was different to the warm sand hues and gilded bronze of this place. The 'high street' did not quite exist here in the same way as other cities Shops and buildings strung about in different directions in a sort of democracy. If one stretch of shops did not tickle your fancy the next might, or the next, or the next. Clubs and restaurants crammed in every crevice. Places to see. Places to be seen. All possibilities here. High and low, grand and modest. The place set the scene where ever one was. The tatty end of a run down place had as much potential for glamour as the formal grandness of a house like this. Dem exited the car with Caroline like a timid younger sibling. Caroline was kindness itself and counselled Demelza to be 'herself'. Dem was somewhat herself in an embroidered blouse and long skirt but of fine silk gauze (One might pull the whole blouse through a wedding ring, so was its delicacy) over a pretty camisole for the blouse and linen for the skirt. The skirt was dark blue and brought out the subtle sheen of her shoes.(Too dainty to be real and so grand for an day out!) Caroline wore a pale blue tunic with goucho pants that matched. It was casual in its silhouette and luxurious in its matte silk fabric and pastel prettiness. Caroline's shoes were a fascination to Dem. Bone white leather with a modest block heel with a stripe of beige leather across the front toe. They were plain and exciting at the same time, had no relation to her blue clothes and yet looked _perfect_. They spent the morning between two boutiques that provided both Dem and Caroline's garments for the slate of events they would attend. Blue was told by Caroline that he would not accompany them today, that they might shop in a more informal manner later. Red and Blue were disappointed but as the day spooled forward Dem could see that these interactions were necessarily female. The maids, the assistants, the owners of the establishments. The glasses of orange juice enriched with Gran Marnier and champagne. The Aladdin's cave of beautiful clothes. The mirrors on their hinges that showed every part of you, every side. The jewels, the shoes the appreciation of craftsmanship through the lens of women. Dem might have enjoyed having Blue with her but these transactions were a feminine landscape of fashion, of emotion. An island of women who spoke candidly of their happinesses and heartaches even as they fingered beads and tried on clothes. They listened. They advised. They talked of their solutions; drugs, vacations, lovers, psychics... The owners provided a service above simply providing something to wear. A queendom. A conspiracy of women bound in a safety that a male presence would quash. Caroline knew these secrets and rules. Knew these customs and rituals, guided Dem onward through them and bolstered her as she joined in, with smiles, with a knowing smile. _You belong..._ smiled Caroline. And Dem smiled back her acceptance of it, that she could have a place among the rich and famous. Ross had manoeuvred well known musicians in London with the ease of knowing himself to be equal. Dem tried to will herself into that frame of mind. Stepping apart from the safety of Ross' confidence, of Resurgam's halo around her, Dwight and Ned's encouragement when she played guitar at Blaise's. Dem learned to see herself as equal. She was not so intimate a friend that she would dream of admitting some of the private things these virtual strangers said in front of Dem. She listened and watched. She spoke of her life and it seemed to interest and impress the women she met in these various places. Idle chit chat, brief, but Caroline said later Demelza had made a marvelous impression. Dem was signed to Warner. An 'open sesame' these L.A. women could appreciate and respect. Warner Brothers, in its various arms and holdings was a powerhouse in this town. Dem had been on Top of the Pops. Dem performed on The Old Grey Whistle Test. These things were also real. Tangible. Her real life. These televison programs were not "American" but the people they met recognized the importance of them. She was equal. "Afterburn was number fourteen, that was the second single..." Dem heard herself say. She was exotic. She played guitar with her band. She was married to Ross. "Oh yes," Dem heard herself say, "Ross had the Christmas Number One in '75... The charts are different in England..."

The maid's uniform was ice cream pink with a white apron. The house was a pretty jewelbox of tigerskin and forest green Rigaud candles in their silver capped glasses, fine carpets in rich hues, potted palms and orchids. Glass topped tables and black lacquered furniture. Ancient painted screens, bustling with the ordinary days of a far away past and standing at attention like an aside, an afterthought. Stuffed club chairs in large scale vivid florals that would scare most aristocratic Britons but were perfect here. Bigger. Bolder. No compromise. The Statement. The house was the owners clarion call not just a home. It did not need to be good taste, only conviction. Dem was introduced and welcomed and spent a pleasant afternoon looking at breathtaking dresses among rich women who had their husbands largess to play with and, most excitingly, Diana Ross. They chatted and 'oohed and aahed', drank wine in the daytime and visited much the same way Dem used to lay about the Paynter's lounge doing homework and looking at magazines with classmates from school. They were friendly and chatty and treated her as if she was a friend even though they had only just been introduced. Dem was living her real, actual life and in this moment it was unbelievable! She rode back to the hotel in a wide eyed happiness. She went to Caroline's room and viewed the different dresses she planned for various events and they were all incredible. The one she was most excited to wear was for the largest party at the start of the week. Because Dem insisted on having her back covered the dresses necessarily gave more attention to the front. Dem and Caroline would wear the same sort of mini dress, almost Grecian in its brevity and poetically flowing short skirt. Dem's was gold lamé and Caroline's was a sequined blue. They had well matched 'falls', a half wig quite the same hue as their real hair, that gave the illusion of fuller hair at the back of the head. They had pretty matching shoes and a riot of pretty bangles at each wrist. They would look like glamorous Star Trek alien dancing girls or ancient Greek princesses. Dem was excited to be so fashionable and a bit sexy. The first cocktail evening Dem would wear her own floor length gown from Biba. She still fit it and the 30s style was still fashionable. As the week continued the dresses became longer and more elegant. The first party dress was a marvelous flight of fancy and Dem was in love with what little of her 'princess dress' there was to adore.

Ross grinned. "Need I ask if you enjoyed yourself?" Dem chattered in an excitible brace of anecdote and explanation. Her eyes were shining, they might have been fireflies and Ross was was charmed. Her pretty silk shoes lay skittered on the carpet, his boots standing at attention by the door brace off to the side. He had a happy feeling, to feel her toes tapping at his foot as she spoke a mile a minute seated on the bed next to him. Not just the intimacy of it but her excited fidget showed her to be happy at happiness' height. Caroline had bopped Dem's forehead with a magic wand today it seemed. Dem met Diana Ross! She had a rainbows worth of clothes to wear. She had a marvelous afternoon among women. This was a special happiness for her. Ross realized as Dem gleefully talked of this and that she did not have much in the way of prolonged visiting or interactions with other women. He recalled her happy pride in being asked to sit at 'the bird's nest', the table of wives and girlfriends in any place where male musicians congregated. She had been fourteen. Bright eyed and animated among the older women, some only a few years older, eighteen? Nineteen? Dem enjoyed her day of glamour and girlfriends. Ross admired her. She hadn't had as much of that as she should have growing up, in their life together. She might make up for lost time in her new life. It felt like a new life. Dem had a solitary sort of life in Cornwall but what she had lacked in peers then was made up for by her talent. Dem was a guitarist in her own right. She took what Ross gave her and made it her own. And they were in Los Angeles, right smack in the middle of things. And she met Diana Ross! She was adorable in her chatter and Ross felt he had to kiss her. Ross kissed her mouth, briefly. She giggled, kissed back and Ross could smell she had been drinking. A scent of wine so strong it faintly scented even her breathing. A haze at her nose not just her breath. "What did they give you? Your new friends have liquored you up!" Dem giggled. "I'm not drunk!" Ross smiled. He certainly knew the difference. "I didn't say you were drunk! I think I have not encountered you in your cups other than port! I'm used to you smelling of port! Kiss me!" She kissed him. Warm and sweet and leaning forward as she met him. Ross pulled away, looked at her face, this way and that, then kissed her nose. "I'm none the wiser!" joked Ross. "Not just wine though..." Dem pretended offense. "Oh Judas! What insult next! If all you kiss me for is to pry and spy into my liquors!" She hugged him and he could feel her smile at his neck. She was happy. She sat up and put herself on his lap more securely. "Mimosas and Chardonnay!" Ross laughed in amazement. "Chardonnay! You let white wine pass your lips!?" Dem shrugged. "When in Rome... What did you do today?" Ross smiled. "I took a leaf from your manager's book!" Dem looked perplexed. Ross laughed. "I bought a pair of sunglasses and looked around!" Demelza laughed brightly as she turned to look at the nightstand Ross pointed to where black rimmed sunglasses sat folded. Ross enjoyed looking around but he did sense a sort of unease here. There was a looser morality in the streets. Perhaps one could avoid it if you went about in a car. Control how much or how little you wanted to partake as you sped by or slowed down. Ross noticed the second layer more easily here than in New York or London. In any city there were layers. The daytime, work a day normalcy and the other. Be it a mode of fashion or the true tenor of this place Los Angeles flashed evidence of its vices more clearly. In New York the prostitues were secreted in plain sight by the Holland Tunnel, Times Square, at the lonesome stretches of avenue behind the Port Authority Bus Terminal, the network of places where the trade was agreed to be in New York but it was also jumbled up in plain sight elsewhere. Here, there and every where. In New York drug dealers strolling the streets chanted, "Smoke, smoke. Doses, doses" under their breath like an afterthought. A quiet advertisement. A relaxed loitering that signaled one was approachable for advice and a way to get what one needed. Uptown, Midtown, Downtown. Even in Truro the hints and flashes that proclaimed they were "open for business" for them who knew where and when. This was street level. Not the rich and connected people who knew the right "doctors", knew the right people, the high class and select who procured their vices unseen. This second layer, boots on the ground reality, was out on the streets. In other places Ross had been you had to know where to look. That other second layer was everywhere if you knew how to look, in New York, in England. There was a lot of that in plain sight here. Ross was seen by some he passed as a potential someone who could do business. Need some? Want some? He looked "cool". Maybe his favor might be the bit of luck this girl needed, that boy needed. Maybe he needed what they could give. Ross could see the clean layer, of networking, of wealth, of possibility and the second, dirty layer were more intertwined here. It was ugly. Glamour was there in snatches but many people were waiting for nightfall, really. You could see the joins in the light of day. The cracks in the make up. The artifice was too easily seen in the light of day. Some of the night people could not hide their intentions in the light of day. Ross in his black tee shirt, his black jeans, boots in the English style not the Western, hair grown loose, looked cool but he also held a hint of damage, a hint of _other_. He had discernible hints of some of the second layer if the surface upon him became scratched. Not a stranger to that street culture in his New York habit, in his later relapse. He was potential. That he sensed this from others, here and here, as he walked around was a disquieting feeling. Dem and Malcolm were seeing the gloss of this place, Caroline and Hugh were seeing its advantages, its placement in the entertainment industry. Ross also saw these aspects but he saw the second layer. More disturbingly, denizens of that layer seemed to suss him out too. _You belong?_ They asked with inquisitive glances. _The other_. "What did you think? Did you like it?" asked Dem. Ross smiled. He would not mention his misgivings. Dem was in the middle of a grand adventure. He would not introduce doubt. "I found it much different to New York and a bit more tied to," here he made his voice sound grand. "Show Business..." Dem laughed. He smiled in an absent way. Dem watched Ross. She could see wheels turning in his mind. Waited for more. Ross looked to her with an apologetic smile. "I suppose I turn everything into a drama!" laughed Ross. Dem crinkled her eyes. Ross was parsing this place, considering it. "The scale is different..." thought Ross aloud. "New York is huge and vertical but feels accessible. London is home..." Here they smiled an agreement. "Los Angeles is vast and in your face. I haven't got a proper sense of it yet... You can buy records everywhere, hear live music everywhere... Buy a guitar... The shops here seem jumbled up, not like Music Row..." Dem hugged Ross again. They had gone to New York in different decades but they both knew the excitement and ease of having so many instrument suppliers and famed stores there at close quarters. They also relied on the dear little shop in Truro that could order what they didn't have if you were willing to wait. The big London stores that catered to the biggest stars and the most modest players. Cornwall was home, like the back of their hand. London was like a comfortable old shoe, familiar and useful. New York clamored to give you what you wanted and things you didn't even know you wanted til you turned a different corner. Wandering with a scribbled address in hand, going West or East in the Manhattan streets, trying to find the place someone suggested and seeing nine other useful places along the way because the different suppliers tried to be near each other, bound together in districts of commerce. Ten days was perhaps not enough time to get to know this place. But they would make their mark on Los Angeles just the same. They were more alike in a way now. Dem was working and performing and they had each been on Top of the Pops! Both out and about. Knowing the same cities the same intimate way. As musicians. They had evolved over their previous form. 'Ross n' Dem' were both proper rockers they would swan about the California music people and leave their mark.

They had dinner at Musso and Frank's for Hugh had asked about among his New York contacts for places to dine that would suit his temperament. It was an establishment that had been favored by the Golden Age Hollywood movie stars and had an old time gravitas that Hugh felt held symmetry. Demelza was a musician but Hugh's French concepts of stardom were more elastic than many English and American managers. In France it was common to have hit songs performed by TV and movie actresses with no hint of a suggestion that it be grasping or a reach for a girl out of her depth. Entertainment, particularly of the francophone type, was a large tent and each piece of the performer's contribution to different sides of the business built interest and loyalty to their fans. One wanted to see their favourite stars in magazines, in movies, taking a star turn as a circus performer, hear them on the radio. Hugh was interested in managing a British girl in the French manner. That it bled into the United States could only be seen as a plus. Every new bit of interest would redouble itself as another feather in Demelza's cap. Orange Amps gave her glamour and credibility as a guitarist. That in turn made Demelza a viable model, photographed for various magazines. That brought interest when her singles were released and the Top of the Pops and Whistle Test performances would poise her to ascend higher in the charts when the album was released. Demelza dining where Rudolph Valentino and Greta Garbo had, where famous authors like F. Scott Fitzgerald and Dorothy Parker had held a correctness. It was all of a piece. All part of the plan. In his illness Hugh had brought a strain of indiscretion to his dealings with Demelza and Malcolm. He never got sexually involved with his clients before. He never fell in love with any of them either. Hugh had no sexual interest in men at all, and Malcolm would certainly say the same. The Plaza was a pact, an agreement to be two consorts side by side. That held in the act but, having declared a strict demarcation between "Red" and "Demelza", Hugh had broken it. He had the delightful wickedness of taking "Red" for himself. This was not "fair" but it was instructive. He had used them both in a way but it bound a second pact in truth. It made Hugh want to do as much as possible for them both. Hugh had the plan, the blueprint in his Parisian work. That it had an emotional component he had not intended did not have to be messy. He could go forward and bring his trio as much advantage and success as he could. Should Hugh succeed before he shuffled off this mortal coil, Hansel and Gretel could live happily ever after...

Malcolm liked Caroline. She was a posh bird but had a very taking personality. She had been to Los Angeles before and knew about the place. Red were by Ross, as it should be, and he sat to Caroline's left as Hugh sat to her right. She was an old hand at California and things that troubled Malcolm didn't phase Caroline. Malcolm kept staring at his drink. The surface bobbled in the glass. Shivered a little. In New York when things like that happened it usually meant a building was too close to a subway tunnel and the vibration of the train passing underneath shook things gently. Malcolm had not seen train stops about here. The glasses were not still though... Caroline looked about the table. She wondered about Ross Poldark. He was a man with an outsized reputation and she was not clear how much of it was deserved. He spoke quietly to his wife, Dem hung on his words and blinked winsome and devotedly at him. They were notorious in Cornwall. Caroline's uncle was moved to repeat the common gossip that was so prevalent over the years when Hugh mentioned he might work with Demelza Poldark. Caroline wasn't sure what to expect from her. She went to Hempel so she wasn't entirely working class. Dem was a lovely girl! Friendly and excited to try new things. A talent. Her music charted at once and the Whistle Test performance was riveting. It brought out the best of them all, even Hugh seemed larger than life as he played bass and Malcolm drummed. A wife. Demelza and Ross were comfortable in each others company and Ross did not blink at Dem's attitude towards her drummer. He walked about with seemingly no issue of his wife walking about with Malcolm, holding hands and even an arm around the other. It was absorbed as some sort of agreement between them. Tonight they sat as a married couple as easily as Dem and Malcolm paired in each others company with no guile. Dem was, occasionally, a morsel wide eyed towards Malcolm. Vice versa, Demelza and Malcolm looked smitten with each other sometimes and Caroline was NOT imagining it. They had a soft spot for each other but how far did it go? Was Ross an indulgent older man giving his young spouse leave to stray? Malcolm seemed so respectful of her, of Ross... The way they looked at each other sometimes... She turned to Malcolm who had gone quiet. He was staring at his water glass. Caroline grinned. "It's a tremor." Malcolm looked up. "Eh? What's doin' it? There ain't trains under here?" Caroline shook her head 'no' with an amused smile. "Things rarely stay still here. There are occasional tremors from the fault underground..." Malcolm's eyes went wide. "It's an earthquake!?" Other diners turned to see who was laughing. A stunningly good looking woman at a table of stunningly good looking people was laughing merrily. Hugh who was speaking to Dem looked at Caroline laughing at something Malcolm had said. Hugh looked between them, amused "If that pleasantry can bear repetition I think you should not keep it to yourselves!" Malcolm looked indignant and made a defense of himself. "Ain't no jest on my side!" He pointed to his water glass. "The drinks is sittin' there shiverin' an' Caroline said it's 'cause a earthquakes!" Hugh grinned. Dem looked at her own water. She had not noticed but... Yes... The surface of all of the drinks were shimmering with movement. Ross looked to Malcolm in good humor. "Not to worry Malcolm, I shouldn't think they'll have 'The Big One' just yet!" Malcolm's mouth dropped open. Blue was in an instantaneous panic at the idea that everything around them could come down about his shoulders and slide into the sea. "Christ! D'ee even hear what comes out your mouth?! The Big One?!" Ross chuckled in the back of his throat. He also found the occasional shaking of everything a little distressing but that was the way of things here. Dem crinkled her eyes at her friend. "When in Rome, Blue! The locals don't seem to mind it!" He shook his head and spoke with a joking conviction. "I ain't lookin' t'fall through the floor! I ain't lookin' t'ave the place come cavin' down around my ears neither! I like the ground t'be the ground! Firm! Not be all quiverin' like a jelly! They need t'steady the place down!" He glowered at his water glass one last look of disapproval as they all had a good laugh and spoke of other things. Wait staff in red jackets brought the various dishes to their table. A shadow of their hotel's restaurant offerings, Americaness, was also here but more seriousness brought to bear, curated with less sprawl in one's choices and an emphasis on Italian cuisine. They enjoyed their meal. They had the interest of some in the room and two men came to introduce themselves, asking why they were in town, asking if the ladies were actresses. Excited by their accents and 'high class' manner. Hugh was encouraged. A higher up for radio in the area and a gentleman from Columbia Records. A third man who said he was a scout for film talent. Making contacts. Good. 

Demelza walked back to the car arm in arm with Caroline, chatting about their day and enjoying each other's company. She turned to enter the car and as she sat admired Ross, Blue and Hugh talking of New York as they approached the car. Involved in their talking and very different to each other. Ross' proud stride, so different to Blue's relaxed amble, so different to Hugh's strict posture, ubiquitous black trench coat and dark glasses. She sat by Caroline and the men filed in. Ross, her husband. Blue, her friend. Hugh... Manager. Bass player. Mentor. Dance partner... Still at a remove for all they worked together and liked each other. Almost a friend... Ross taught her guitar, and brought her up. Raised her up straight into his arms. He looked after Jeremy and Clowance and gave her the space to work and get this far, made their life work. Blue was the engine. He pushed her to bring order to her disorganized life in London, made her stop draping herself about the house and get outside. Had the sensitivity to let her be too. Let her have her sorrow sometimes and kept Jeremy occupied. Cajoled her into jamming with him on a borrowed guitar. Believed in her, asked her to meet Hugh, wanted her to try for more, work at music properly. Hugh. Hugh lived like Mum's fairy tales in which everyone slept on satin sheets and ate off gold platters. Dem's imagination could gladly accept it as a story but Hugh had snapped his fingers and made that sort of life a reality. Dem became a working musician and she and Blue were surrounded by luxury at every turn. Supported by luxury at every turn. Tangible success in a blink of an eye. Hugh gave no suggestion that they were undeserving or that it was odd. Ross insisted it was not normal for a manager to be so generous. Dem felt what might be suspect in a general sense was simply Hugh's way of being. He wanted results and thought nothing of bringing his largess to her and Blue in aid of the band. Their band. He was the boss but he also learned to dance, helped write the songs, and performed alongside them. Taught them the sort of things musicians often weren't allowed to know, in finance, in production, management. Hugh believed in them and gave Dem and Blue everything they could want in their career even as it had only just begun... Dem smiled at them all. Sated with a good meal, each secure in their position in Demelza's life, all three smiled back, or Ross and Blue did. Hugh's smirk was quite like a smile. Perhaps Dem had become used to it. Three men in her life. Each different from the others but each had something the others lacked. She smiled at Caroline who had been so encouraging and seemed proud of Dem today. She lay her head at Ross' shoulder and closed her eyes. Ross gave her a peck on the head, soft and just so. A little kiss. Dem giggled and opened her eyes as the car sped along and Blue smiled at her. He was happy that Red was happy and liked to see Ross treating her well. Hugh began speaking about the cocktail party the next night. It turned Blue's attention and they all chatted about what to expect. A staid affair of industry executives, not unlike the gathering Hugh hosted at his London home when they first met him. Not like the next night, a wonderful bash with music and many of the artists who were up for awards as well as other famous people. Dem was excited for that party. She and Caroline would be wearing their matching dresses then. She smiled, cozy at Ross' side, as they returned to the hotel. Tomorrow's party would be less showy, maybe even a bit dull but Dem looked forward to it all the same. It will be nice to attend a quiet event to start the week. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Street, The Doors 1968
> 
> She lives on Love Street  
> Lingers long on Love Street  
> She has a house and garden  
> I would like to see what happens  
> She has robes and she has monkeys  
> Lazy diamond studded flunkies
> 
> She has wisdom and knows what to do  
> She has me and she has you
> 
> She has wisdom and knows what to do  
> She has me and she has you
> 
> I see you live on Love Street  
> There's this store where the creatures meet  
> I wonder what they do in there  
> Summer Sunday and a year  
> I guess I like it fine, so far
> 
> She lives on Love Street  
> Lingers long on Love Street  
> She has a house and garden  
> I would like to see what happens
> 
> When we have shuffled off this mortal coil: Hamlet Act Three, Scene One
> 
> Back soon...


	7. Lyin' Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loose lips sink ships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Sir Hugh' or 'Hughie' is Sir Hugh Brodrugan
> 
> Plain 'Hugh' is Hugh Armitage

"I'm told Monk Adderley will be making the rounds this week..." said George putting on his tie. Elizabeth nodded as she put her necklace on. Adderley had connected George to the Casablanca representatives who gave Warleggan Group the right to license their music in the U.K., a lucrative deal that netted the label the right to the popular disco hits in the States with no outlay on their part except pressing the British version. She found the man to be a bit creepy, one or two steps removed from a 'proper' villain but he was a well connected person here and did George a good turn. "I shall make a point of keeping an eye out for him, to say hello." George shrugged on his suit jacket. "Dem Poldark is skulking about on a Warner junket. Trying to get talked up, no doubt. That Armitage is far to much a Frenchie! She hasn't got an album yet and already he's trying drum up business in the States..." tsked George. Elizabeth sighed. "Well in that case I shall keep an eye out to _avoid_ her." She tilted her chin up to admire herself in the mirror. She looked to George's reflection and continued. "Though that man Brodrugan might have been right..." George raised an eyebrow in interest. "About the drummer, you mean?" he asked. Elizabeth smoothed the skirt of her gown, a pale blue chiffon with a touch of 30s style glamour as she nodded and turned from the mirror to face him. "I'd have not believed it but I saw her walking with that boy in London after Valentine was seen by that specialist in July. They are certainly too close for comfort, she had her arm around his waist!" George chuckled, amused at Elizabeth being appalled, at Ross Poldark's little Christmas angel getting up to all sorts behind his back. "While the cat's away... Well, well..." George considered it. Dem was older. Maybe it was a marriage of convenience... "I wouldn't put it past our mistletoe mascot to be allowed to step out. Poldark's had Dem every which way since she was a child! Maybe he's letting her have her own way. It would certainly be the first time she had at a man her own age!" He laughed as Elizabeth shuddered. He enjoyed seeing her discomfort in Ross' relationship with that kid. It took the bloom of Elizabeth's romance with him. George tidied his cuffs and appraised his wife. He stood to admire his wife. He had more forbearance towards her recently. She had yet to show but she was pregnant and the prospect of a true Warleggan heir had him well pleased. "Shall we?" Elizabeth, queasy at the suggestion of Ross being a child molester; she _never_ believed that scurrilous gossip about them. Ross married Dem too young, yes, but not the rest. Elizabeth shook that off and took George's arm with the inclined head and mischievous eyes that showed her to be a covetable woman in her man's thrall. George did not throw Ross in her face or insult her. George was content. She _finally_ got pregnant and the anchor Elizabeth had prayed for was attained. Her marriage would be on terra firma with this child. They would be able to move forward with the bitter bargain of George rearing both Francis and Ross Poldark's sons at a remove. A child of their own, a new era and a fresh start. They went down to the car.

"Oh, Hughie! The better party is tomorrow! Let's just skip this one, it's only cocktails!" Sir Hugh chuckled. "You've got it back to front, m'dear! Getting that many corporate brass in their cups in a room not blazing with loud music _is_ the main event where I'm standing!" He grinned at Maggie's tantalizing form in his bed. "I could go without you if you promised to stay in bed like that until I got back!" She blinked a 'come hither' look and tossed her hair for good measure. "An' let those Hollywood girls get their claws into you? I think not!" She smiled as she rose from the bed and gave him an eyefull. "I'm going with you..." Sir Hugh gave a snort. She had enjoyed feeling herself lady of the manor at Weary House this past summer. She was his companion on this trip which suited them both. She had a glamorous trip to Los Angeles and he had a looker on his arm for the duration but Brodrugan wasn't born yesterday. If Maggie found the right sort of rich American he'd be yesterday's news. But, for now, she would stay with the man what brought her. "Get your glad rags on then," said Sir Hugh. "Doesn't do to be 'fashionably late' around here. Got to keep one's ear to the ground from the first!"

Hugh sat in the lobby awaiting Demelza and Malcolm's return. Drumming his fingers on the arm of the club chair in annoyance. Caroline watched him in good humored interest. "Where have you been? I think Ross is looking for you! The CBS Records gathering is tonight!" Caroline smiled at them coming through the door without a care in the world. Malcolm in jeans and a tee shirt and Dem in a cotton peasant blouse and long denim skirt, sporting newly acquired, sunglasses. Dem's had bright red plastic frames and the lenses were shaped like hearts and Malcolm were a mirrored, aviator style. They were chatty and happy and Caroline could not help but notice Malcolm had his arm around Demelza in a possessive sort of way. Dem's smile widened beneath her flashy sunglasses. She had seen them and waved. Hugh took one look at Demelza's sunglasses and took a sharp intake of breath. Caroline raised an eyebrow as he shook his head in dismay. "Ooh la la..." complained Hugh, tartly. Caroline bit down on a laugh. Dem was, clearly, not aware of the reference. "Oh! Hello, Hugh!" said Dem surprised that they were seated in the lobby. Believing Hugh shaking his head was due to them being late. Caroline chuckled at Hugh as he looked to scold his errant bandmates as they came through the lobby. He was momentarily amused by this but looked to them in consternation. Malcolm and Dem looked to him in surprise. "We ain't late! You said it were eight o clock! It's just gone seven!" said Malcolm. He brought his arm down but Dem caught his fingers up in her hand in a movement that was casual and seemingly not unexpected. He held her hand with ease as his other arm clutched a bag. "We still have to get there and you're not dressed!" said Hugh. "We'll be dressed in a jiffy, Hugh!" said Dem. "It's all laid out! I laid in on the bed before we left!" Dem grinned at Caroline. "Hello, Caroline! It's the purple dress!" Caroline nodded. The correct outfit. She was more interested in Dem talking so cheerfully with her fingers interlinked with Malcolm's. Dem turned to Hugh. "We shall meet here in a half an hour, like we agreed!" Hugh sighed. "Thank you ma fée, but do tell me when you're going out! At the very least leave a note at the front desk! I should not have worried or sat about in the lobby if I had some idea where you two were!" Malcolm grinned. "We was at Tower Records!" He showed off the bag of records, an inch worth of a stack in it at least. "You made out like a bandit, it seems," said Caroline. Malcolm grinned as he brought the bag back to his side. "Aye! We got a bunch! 'Alf a these is Red's!" Caroline nodded, watched Demelza smile at her drummer, ostensibly at the happy time had by both in the record store or... "A half hour then. If I see Ross I shall send him back to you!" smiled Hugh. Crisis averted, Red and Blue present and accounted for. They went to the elevator bank. Caroline uncrossed her ankles and Hugh stood to offer her his hand. "They seem very cosy, Hugh." Hugh's smirk widened as she stood. He bowed over Caroline's hand and released it. "Ha! Thick as thieves. I should not have worried but they are like herding cats sometimes... I'll have to rid her of those sunglasses! Of all the pairs in the world..." He shook his head again. They walked to the bank of elevators. Malcolm and Demelza had gone up already. Hugh pushed the up button. Caroline said in a teasing manner, "Hugh?" The tenor of her voice had changed, half mirth, half reprimand. "I wonder if you shouldn't keep a better eye on your 'Red and Blue'. They seem to be careening towards Purple if they haven't already!" Hugh rolled his eyes. One mercy about having Malcolm and Demelza succumb, briefly, to passion, is they didn't look any different from before. They were always that clingy and couplish looking. Hugh raised his palms as if he prepared himself for Caroline's cynicism. "I know what it looks like! I asked Malcolm about it point blank when we first started working together. He was upset enough at the accusation I worried it might come to blows. He was more offended that I suggested Demelza capable of straying than him being a possible backdoor man. They really are just friends..." Caroline raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Really Caroline," and Hugh managed the next sentence with a modest fib. "I lived with them in my house for three months in New York. They are very affectionate towards each other but it is really all it is." Hugh hesitated. It was a fine line to walk. Hansel and Gretel were still a little sentimental over New York. He did not want to see their bit of happiness tarnished. Hugh would rather see them together properly, as a couple in truth, but their attitude was like that of magnets repelling. Teasing them about their obvious compatibility and attraction to each other would make them dig in their heels and fight against it rather than agree. Caroline was as capable of a well aimed skewer and he was. Hansel and Gretel should not be shamed. They should find their own way to what Hugh considered the truth of things. They should be a couple in truth. Hugh took pains not to tease his bandmates since they returned from New York. He wanted better for Demelza and, not being in a position to provide it himself in his illness, Hugh sought the most obvious solution. Malcolm could be her knight in shining armor, they just needed to have space enough to make that choice. "And Caroline," said Hugh, quietly, candidly. "Don't tease them. I did when we started working and I do regret it now that I know them both better. Their friendship is very pure. Let them have it." The elevator door opened. Hugh gestured Caroline forward like a gentleman and they entered to go up to their floor. Ross heard their exchange with interest. That Hugh had been as baffled by Malcolm as he had been, that Hugh insisted there was nothing untoward in their physicality. Hugh also sounded protective of both of his bandmates -contrite over his first cynicism as well. It heartened Ross for it showed the side of Hugh he had been struck by when they all watched Top of the Pops or sat upstairs here explaining the junket accounts. Hugh was so offputting it was good to see a glimpse of affection for Dem and Malcolm. Their manager had made a careful study of them and not only pronounced them innocent he defended their right to continue being close friends who showed their friendship in their hand holding, their embraces. It strengthened the idea that Ross was correct to let Dem be and not make too much challenge against the friend she made while they had been separated in '75. Malcolm hugged their children no less, really and Dem was very reciprocal but never tipping over into more provocative interactions. Obscured by potted plants on his way to the stairwell Ross heard an unguarded defense of "Red and Blue" from Caroline asking about what just about everyone who saw them thought by someone who knew them both well. Malcolm had taken offense that anyone believe Dem could countenance cheating on her husband, that same working class attitude Ross despaired of in the Scot sometimes showing a chauvinistic truth. Malcolm considered "Red's husband" sovereign and his friend above reproach. Ross continued to the stairwell in a thoughtful mood.

In a fetching purple dress, the old Biba one Dem had been given as a present from that shop when she had gotten married, Dem smiled at Ross as he came through the door. She giggled because Ross kept knocking over the door brace as he came in but never thought to stick the thing some place else. He dutifully set it by the doorjamb, leaning on the side of the dresser. He grinned as he stood up. "I'm sorry, Ross! Blue and I went to look about and I hadn't left a note..." Ross chuckled. "That's alright, Hugh was in a panic but you arrived in the nick of time!" He crossed the room to kiss her. She hugged him and her body felt slippery from the satin dress. "You look wonderful Dem! It makes your hair that much more red..." She smiled a satisfaction in the mirror at the wall behind the lengthy bureau. Ross went to dress himself and suitably attired they went to the lobby. In the car the seats faced each other. Hugh and Caroline sat across from Dem flanked by Malcolm and Ross. Hugh complimented them all on looking nice but said, "I meant to mention about your sunglasses, Demelza," Dem smiled. "Aren't they cute! Blue and I each chose a pair!" Hugh frowned. "I daresay but that style of heart shaped lens is too provocative..." Dem frowned. "Why? What do you mean?" Hugh smirked, gestured to Dem and Malcolm with a flick of his hand. "You lot are too young to know but they were made famous by Sue Lyon in Stanley Kubrick's Lolita! The sort of men in high places around here will certainly have that reference front of mind! You should not give people such a bald reason to speculate about you, there will be many British executives about. The Americans are not familiar with your history with Ross..." Ross glared at Hugh. "Those are lies..." Hugh nodded. He stopped smirking, trying to convey seriousness. "Lies or no, having Demelza prancing about L.A. in those glasses with do neither of you any favors." Ross set his jaw as Dem rested her hand on his knee. 'Lies or no' stuck in his craw. The constant slander that Ross brought Dem to Cornwall to keep her for sex from the age of twelve had remained stubbornly robust in Cornwall and in music circles. The public at large knew a different tale. Ross was a sanctioned guardian who helped Demelza's father by sponsoring her musical talent. Neither tale was true. Dem was brought to Cornwall as a runaway and Ross chose to keep her through his cousin Verity's intervention. He was a heroin addict and Verity feared what would happen to Ross if the authorities took a dim view of a twenty two year old drug addict bringing a minor aged runaway into his house however well meant. He got off drugs and compelled Tom Carne to relinquish Dem to Ross' care for his abuse of his daughter was extreme. Ross and Dem had put up with these sexual rumors ever since they met and Hugh was not wrong in saying music people in particular clung to that narrative. Dem placed a calming hand on Ross' knee. She knew Hugh's comment, 'lies or no', had rankled him. It might have been true, the way others often saw them all these years, but it should not be so said. Hugh was brusque sometimes. Ross gave her a sidelong glance. By resting her hand on his knee Dem asked Ross to stand down, not get irritated with her manager for what was, admittedly, the lay of the land in their life together. Ross and Dem had that cross to bear and Hugh was not the enemy, just the messenger. Ross nodded, tersely, and did not retort. Malcolm looked between them. Hugh was right. When he met Red the guests at Sir Hugh's salon were gleeful in telling an unknowing Scottish drummer newly arrived to England from the States all about 'Ross n Dem' in frank and offensive comments. Malcolm and Dem had not known of the Lolita movie. They just thought the sunglasses looked cool. He looked to Red and they frowned a disappointment that the cute sunglasses were tainted. "I understand, Hugh. I'll put them away." she turned back to Blue. "We should go back to that shop, we can look for a different pair!" Malcolm grinned. "Aye!" Caroline smiled. Malcolm and Demelza were very cute together.

The party was in full swing which of course meant quiet murmuring and beautiful women straining to look interested as the corporate executives talked their talk. _The_ party, from glamour's perspective was the after party, the CBS party after the Grammy ceremony ended. This night so early in the week held no special interest if you were not a business sort. Most of the female guests were looking to the pre Grammy party tomorrow with more excitement. But this party was a hot ticket for the music business power barons. Quiet conversations rather than yelling small talk over loud music. Hugh, being a business sort, took the gamble that going en masse would be better. Enough spouses would attend to make it palatable for Demelza and Caroline. Enough music talk to make it palatable for Ross and Malcolm. Hugh wanted to meet as many American executives as possible and of all the gatherings this cocktail evening was on a small enough scale to talk properly. Hugh had to get his bearings. Paris and New York had their own flow, their own rules and ways of doing business. Hugh wanted some sense of Los Angeles and its character, so tied to the existing movie and television companies. Dem looked all about the large rooms and was reminded of both Hugh's party and Sir Hugh Brodrugan's monthly salon in this large gathering dotted with circular and S shaped benches padded in cushy velvet that could seat many people at once, gilt wooden side chairs at the walls draped in wood paneling and thick mirrors. Tropical flowers that were spiky and sculptural rather than romantic bristled from sleek glass vases so thick walled they shone faintly green rather than clear at their edges. Nicotine smoke, from cigarettes, from cigars hovered in the air. Chewing gum was set about in candy dishes rather than other sorts of candy throughout the rooms. A nicety for cocaine users who often wanted to burn their excess energy by chewing it. A large gaming room had card tables and there was a grand bar in each room as well as wait staff offering hors d'oeuvres and various drinks as well as spiriting away empty glasses. The hum of conversation was staid but the talk among many of the attendees was anything but. There were no raised voices, other than exclamations of greeting, of surprise, of congratulations or triumph. The talk was of business in all its forms. Some aspects of it were less than savory among many of the well connected people. Trading favors and offering advantage was an established way of getting ahead in this town as the music industry followed the lead of the movie industry like an enthusiastic younger sibling. The wives and girlfriends, escorts had each other to talk to and turned a blind eye to many of the unethical dealings. Some of these women rose to prominence by acquiescing to similar requests put forward in their day. It was business...

Caroline suggested, gently, that Dem remain with Ross, Malcolm remain with her and Hugh chit chat unencumbered by needing to stay among them. Hugh's dry business talk taken in whichever direction was most fitting be it a card game or a tête-à-tête standing about with a drink, Caroline on the arm of a young drummer new in town and Ross escorting his wife. Hugh agreed and their three friends were compelled to break with their own sense of tradition. Ross usually favored Malcolm accompanying Dem at events like these and Red and Blue had come to expect it. Caroline was insistent that Ross and Dem be seen side by side tonight. Be the couple they were in truth. Caroline said it was only following correct etiquette but privately she thought Hugh was too preoccupied and business minded to see what was right in front of him. Malcolm and Demelza looked like a couple when they went about together and tonight that would not do. Even if Hugh was correct, even if the two were just friends, Dem was better off seen with her husband in this room full of music movers and shakers. Hugh agreed. He could see even Ross did not favor this. Ross was happy to let Dem go about with Malcolm to spare him the fatigue of having to make small talk, Red and Blue had become used to their right to roam about at parties in a spirit of adventure. Hugh grinned between the three of them. "Humor us tonight and tomorrow you can kick up your heels, or not, all you like," he smiled. "There will be a dinner and then the dancing afterwards. You can manoeuvre tomorrow however you like." Ross looked at Dem. Malcolm looked at Dem. Dem smiled at them both and then to Hugh and Caroline. "We'll be fitty!" said Dem. Hugh and Caroline knit their brows. 'Fitty?' Ross and Blue grinned. Malcolm gave a polite bow to Caroline and offered his arm. "Miss Penvenen," Caroline grinned. "Thank you, Mr. McNeil." Suitably paired and Hugh sizing up the room, they went about to see what they could see.

Hugh, about an hour into the proceedings, was deeply grateful Ross remained with Demelza. The amount of indecent proposals he'd fended off for both Demelza and Malcolm's sake beggared belief. He had declined, radio airplay advantages, and jaw dropping amounts of money in some men's bid to bed Gretel, Hansel, both of them or simply watch them as voyeurs. Can we just watch? Hugh had not fallen off a turnip truck. He turned aside requests for intimate access to his clients in France here and there. Usually the girls themselves had latched on to their own high echelon partner who protected them, put them on a shelf. These men were often in different branches of entertainment, in music or film, who squired the starlets about, above reproach. The odd request now and again in France was easily quashed. Here people traded their clout and advantages, and serious ones, the sort that gave a genuine leg up into success for money but most often a taste of the merchandise. Hugh was firm, did not show offense but made it clear there would be no negotiations of that kind. He was careful to be polite and walk them back out of the suggestion with no rancor or disrespect. Hugh was saying no to serious perks and the men who were rebuffed still controlled the access to them. Hugh would not risk angering someone who could chose decline to program Demelza's songs in the radio playlists of the biggest U.S markets. He simply made it known that they were in town for the Grammys, making headway in Britain and may well do so in America, all above board.

At first, Ross, Demelza, Malcolm and Caroline went around together. At length they did part and Ross and Dem found it was just as easy to be their own entertainment in this huge place than have to mingle with others. They chose a settee and clinked their champagne glasses. "It's too full of businessmen to pay much mind to us!" laughed Dem. Ross held his glass, he sipped at it now and again but it was mostly a prop. Hold your drink... "Hugh seems in his glory," said Ross waving the glass in his direction and then recoiling to see George and Elizabeth further ahead in the room. Dem saw Ross' mouth part as he set himself back a bit in surprise. She looked where he was looking and her eyes went wide seeing The Warleggans talking to someone in the far end of the room. Ross and Dem looked to each other ruefully. "It's a small world..." said Dem. "Well," mused Ross, "It's a big place so I expect we shall avoid each other." By being seated, Ross and Dem were obscured by other guests who were milling about. Elizabeth was drawn away to a group of women elsewhere without having seen the Poldarks. The man they had been speaking with, Monk Adderley, spied Dem across the crowded room as people meandered to and fro. "Goddamn! Who is that!?" He scrutinized this vision in purple. "The hair is flyover but the rest is top class!" George looked and rolled his eyes. He had heard Dem Poldark was on a junket but he hadn't thought Ross would be here too. "That's Dem Poldark. She's with Warner... I expect she was dressed in L.A...." Monk turned to George with a sly grin. "Perhaps she should be undressed in L.A. as well..." George gave a derisive snort. "I wouldn't count on that. She's been a lollipop for her husband since she was nine," Monk actually slavered, licked his lips. "For real!?" A voice chuckled from behind them. "Believe it dear fellow. They are the renegades of Cornwall! Dem's been Ross' side piece years gone, made no bones about it. Married her the second she turned legal..." They turned to see Sir Hugh Brodrugan holding a tumbler of drink. They greeted each other shook hands as George gave a derisive snort. "Poldark's insufferable!" Adderley laughed. "What is with you guys? You Cornwall dudes! I thought all the juice was in London! You guys are like the mafia or something? The Cornish Mafia!" George and Sir Hugh chuckled. Monk looked her up and down. The girl was a looker. "I'm in, I'm gonna get that chick!" Sir Hugh chuckled. "Many have tried..." Monk raised and eyebrow. "With success?" Brodrugan laughed, thought of Malcolm McNeil, Dem's drummer though he declined to name him, he was most likely here with her and Ross on the same trip. That put the cat among the pigeons! "We lay bets, years ago, the London crowd. I hold a salon you know, when I'm in London to do it. Laid odds as to who could get her. I can say someone got her for certain! She's a wild one! Ross got her back though. Hit Number One and got her back. I still hold out hope she might favor a mature specimen like me!" George raised his eyebrows. Brodrugan swore Dem had a thing with her drummer. Elizabeth had come round to believing it too having been as skeptical as George was over the idea. He had not heard the story that Sir Hugh had engineered a bet over Dem or that 'Thy Sweetness' was more than a martial spat above a weakness for drink and siring Valentine. That brought more veracity to what George had dismissed as idle gossip. Monk favored his chances. He nodded his leave and went to investigate.

"Good evening?" Ross and Dem looked up at a grey eyed man. Pale eyed to the point of looking reptilian in a flashy pinstriped suit with the wide lapels and comically wide tie Ross thought so distasteful these days. A red pocket square fluffed from his jacket and a strange button was an ornament on his left lapel. A net of what looked to be finely crocheted silk was set behind glass like a locket. "Hello." said Dem. Monk smiled. "What an accent! I met Limeys before but you're different!" Dem giggled to be called a 'Limey'. A guy who sold chestnuts on the sidewalk from a cart in New York asked if she was 'a Limey', a funny American way of saying 'English'. "I'm from the West Country!" Now he was even more interested. Her voice was chirpy. She might be the sort that's loud in the sack, crying out like a porno. "I saw you from afar. Hair like that is hard to miss! Monk Adderley." He shook Ross' hand and held Dem's briefly in a frozen admiration before releasing it. A tribute to her husband's good fortune in having such a pretty wife. Monk always stroked the husband's ego first. It put them off the scent. Or would do if you hadn't had Joshua Poldark for a Papa. Ross had his number from the first and disliked the exchange about Dem's accent. Limey indeed. "Good evening." said Ross. "Funnily enough you've arrived just as we are set to resume 'mingling'. If you will excuse us..." Dem smiled blandly as they stood and she was led away by her husband. Brodrugan had moved on but George was watching. Monk returned. "So you've burnt your fingers?" asked George with a wry smile. Monk chuckled. "No way! Rome wasn't built in a day. I like to move in by degrees. You have to lay the ground work." George laughed. Monk was sure of his technique. "I can get her and have her follow me around for as long as I want her to. Once she gets a taste she'll be hooked, husband or no." George looked unimpressed. "I'd almost be willing to lay a wager. Pulling Dem Poldark with her husband with her? Fat chance!" Monk was intrigued. Easy money always made him intrigued. "Oh yeah? How much?" George chuckled. "I bet $500, US. I'd not wager more, if you win you'd get all the fun!" Monk smiled. Warleggan didn't like the husband, not one bit. "I think, if I won you would get more satisfaction..." said Monk with a teasing lilt in his voice. George smiled agreement.

Elizabeth had a job to do. To look as rich and effortlessly glamorous as any other woman here. L.A. was delightful and she had availed herself of a spa treatment with a select establishment that heralded her arrival here. She fit in. She knew the right place to be talked about, the romantic, retro gown to wear. A hint of old Hollywood glamour with a whisper of London's style. At the point she started to consider finding George again, a confluence of events brought Elizabeth anxiety. A new woman arrived in the room and she was an old foe. Margaret Vosper, riding on the thin veneer of being a respectable widow to old Nick Vosper had ingratiated her self among the women she was speaking with. Margaret was to put it bluntly, the "town whore" from time back. Francis was a man of modest habits but he had dallianced with this woman before they married. It left a bad taste in Elizabeth's mouth. Men did as they pleased. Women couldn't decide to have at who ever they felt like, unless you had no shame at all like Margaret Vosper. Whether the largess of her widow hood or a present from her newest victim, she brandished a Bottega Veneta Intrecciato, cross woven leather bag like a trophy. It was the larger size, squashy and informal looking even as it was rarified and expensive. Margaret's obnoxiousness in her pretense that she was ignorant of the bag's cachet being so false, she took pleasure in pretending it was an afterthought, _what this old thing?_ , the newest fashion on her arm. That she didn't carry the small kiss clasp purse, the more suitable version for an event such as this, a big sack hanging off her in a cocktail party would have been laughably vulgar in London, but Elizabeth was annoyed to see the Americans fling themselves upon the new arrival as a exciting sister in excess. They met their glances. Elizabeth turned up her nose. Margaret looked like the cat that got the cream. Then Ross came in with Dem on his arm and that brought a pandemonium among a different group who had heard of her and one very high socialite who hosted a trunk show both Elizabeth and Margaret were rebuffed from attending. "Dem!" Ross' little schoolgirl inclined her head. "Judith, how lovely to see you again! This is my husband, Ross..." This did terrible things to both Elizabeth and Margaret. Ross and Dem had turned into to the room at Judith's exclamation and did not see the two women yet. Dem had a 30s style dress also but looked more vibrant in purple to Elizabeth's pale blue. Being on a first name basis with the woman who turned each of them away stung. Showing off Ross on her arm made an Intrecciato oversized bag quite small potatoes. Dem in her London looks and other half evaporated the thunder of Margaret's flash and made Elizabeth's dress seem grasping, boring, the timidity of "good taste" was not the coin of the realm in Los Angeles. Elizabeth was safe in an up to the minute retro look. Dem had the retro look by way of a covetable vintage Biba. 30s style and select. L.A. women knew Biba. Judith recognized it at once. Biba in it's last alliteration, a huge department store, a paradise of marble and mirrors and dark elegance with a roof garden crowned with live pink flamingos and the Rainbow Room, a restaurant and performance space that was the height of Glam Rock coolness until it's end in 1975. Real examples of Biba were like gold dust in the States. Judith had made buying trips to London, buying garments in Biba at retail cost, not wholesale, and offering that rarified cool to L.A. women. Not many party gowns of that quality were made in the Biba boutique. Formal wear was the top of Biba's range in price and exclusivity. Dem was wearing one of the best examples of 1960s. Biba garments from those earlier years were even more rare. _"...it was a wedding gift from Biba. Do you know of them? My wedding gown was Biba. They sent me some others and gave Ross a pair of Spanish boots!..."_ They fussed and preened and, irritatingly, Ross behaved with the effortless sex appeal he had as his birth right. Joshua could make women lie on their backs in obedience in a hot minute by paying them attention and Ross had that too in a way. He had no guile in it he just _was_. Tamed on his wife's arm, in a sharp suit, as good as any in his Mod heyday, his dark eyes and romantic long hair that even Liza so offended by it had to admit had a certain flair at this moment, his strong sex appeal, gave little Dem Poldark the glamour of having a panther on a diamond collar leash. Dem blinking in a grotesque performance of innocence, _What? This old thing...?_ It was all too sickmaking! The party was breaking up. Ending. There were pleas to have the Poldarks grace some of the more intimate gatherings that were on tap for later this night. They demured. They would be at the pre Grammy bash tomorrow which meant being in the hottest party that wasn't the one that was after the ceremony. The Poldarks were in with the in crowd it seemed, and not the only ones from Cornwall! "Oh! Do you know them?! They are from England too, Cornwall, right?!" Ross and Dem, in a performance worth an Oscar, fought the urge to recoil in horror. They both froze but guarded their response. "Oh... Yes..." The Americans dispersed and Ross found himself face to face with not only Elizabeth but Margaret Vosper who had been Maggie Cartland, a fun loving groupie who he had been intimately acquainted with but George as well who came in the room to collect his wife. As the room emptied the five of them stared at each other. That George and Dem stared so wide eyed at Margaret was of interest to Liza and Ross. Ross would not have been surprised if George knew Maggie in the biblical sense. Nearly every randy youth in the district had at her at some point. That Dem should stare so was disquieting. Why should she look so surprised. They were all running around in their heyday when Dem was a child. Margaret liked watching Ross' little schoolgirl and Georgie squirm. It was a happiness over having her chance at ingratiating herself with the L.A. women pulled away sting less. Ross and Elizabeth were gentry but they were as slutty as a Red Lion trull. The symmetry was delicious. "Shall we depart, my dear..." said Elizabeth to George. She was not going to wait around for Ross to say something cutting and start George going. But Ross was not the fly in the ointment. Margaret mimicked, "Shall we depart, my dear? Dearie me aren't you the good little woman? Doing yer fancy spas an' yer church work!" hissed Margaret. Not understanding what Margaret who was a guest of Sir Hugh Brodrugan during the summer months meant and desperate to get away from her before she chose to tell Elizabeth they slept together, George said, "Yes, my wife is a pillar of the community and lends her aid to Sawle Church as well as other good works, good evening..." Ross and Dem took a small step back, they were looking to extricate themselves while there was still a lack of people to eavesdrop or their party come along to find them to leave. Dem in her previous unpleasant experience with Margaret's acid tongue and Ross who heard a threat within Maggie's mention of "church work" wanted to get out of the line of fire. It was not to be. Margaret took offense and said with a relish of delight. "Oh yes! 'Good evening', acting like you don't know me, Georgie!?" Ross, Dem and Elizabeth stood open mouthed. 'Georgie?' Elizabeth in a quiet almost pleasant sounding voice said, "I think you have a right to that endearment since you're spent nearly every year of your life like a vampire, sucking whatever advantage that can be had out of men who treat you as you deserve but my husband...," Margaret's nostrils flared. She whispered low enough to be quiet but loud enough for Ross, Dem and George to hear. She made no bones about her life and would not be shamed. It was posh hypocrites like Elizabeth who needed to feel shame. They thought their class and their rich husbands made them hot shite well, hide behind your wedding ring, babes, Margaret was going fix Mrs. Warleggan's wagon. "Oh! Oh, really? Don't flatter yourself missy. You should be thanking me! If any of your men brought a frigid little bitch like you off it's because I showed 'em how! I had _all_ your men! You stand there lookin' down your nose at me? At least I'm honest! You stand there actin' like you's some saintly woman! Does Georgie know you wasn't just helpin' with the choir at Sawle Church? Does he know you was havin' it off with Ross?" She turned to Ross. "Does 'Thy Sweetness' know you were slobberin' all over Georgie's wife in Sawle churchyard this summer?" She turned to George. "Is this your upstandin' wife? She's lookin' broody! Is this fudgy faced madame gonna 'ave your spud or Ross'?" Ross left. Took Dem by the hand and left. It was not long to find Caroline and Malcolm. Hugh came along not soon after. Malcolm noticed Red was quiet on the ride back to the hotel but is was late and she looked tired. He had a nice time, met some people he had known in New York which amused Caroline, she were nice, nice girl was Caroline. Dem and Ross looked as if they hadn't gotten a lot of enjoyment out of it but Ross was a closed up kind of bloke. He wasn't a party sort in these sort a places. Malcolm resolved to make it up to Red. Tomorrow they would paint the town, have a crackin' good party. Hugh said there would be proper famous people at tomorrow's party and Red was mad for the dress Caroline picked for her to wear. They'd have a real knees up tomorrow... Blue caught Dem's eye and she managed a smile. "Ee tired out, lass?" Blue might have said. "Ais. But alright..." Red might have said. Blue smiled. Dem felt bad and made Malcolm believe she was fine. Are there such a thing as blameless lies? If she pretended herself "fine" was that bad? To secret her hurt and make a friend smile. Was it wrong to _want_ to see Blue smile and have him believe nothing was wrong. She couldn't bear to see Blue see her sad again. She would be fine. They would go to the party tomorrow and have a good time. She would be dressed up like Caroline and Blue would have on his black and green tie. Was it wrong to _like_ the black and green tie. Blue wouldn't ever tell tales. Never. But he would wear that tie and she would know it was the one he wore when they went out to dinner in New York. She would see the crinkle in the corner of his eye, she would remember the moonlight in his eyes and they would know... Hugh seemed preoccupied. Ross was pensive. One suspected Malcolm gave Ross space to avoid being social at these affairs. Caroline detected an element of strain in Ross by the end of the night. He was not a extroverted person.. Caroline sensed a fatigue among them all. Tonight's affair was dull. Tomorrow's party would be better...

The ride back to the hotel was strained. George looked ill from anger to the point Elizabeth was frightened he might have a stroke. The new start that Elizabeth had been so relieved to be given with this new child was dashed by that hideous prostitute! That's what she was! No better than she ought to be and malicious. Elizabeth knew nothing stayed secret in Cornwall. Ever. That Valentine still remained free from taint of gossip was possibly due to spending so much of their time in London. George escorted her back to the car and told the driver to wait, not even speaking to her as if she was an object. Ross ruins _everything_! Liza wished he would die. She was so angry. She knew she should have walked straight back out once she saw Ross in the church, she almost did! She knew the place was crawling with people, people who could tell what went on in every corner of every district but she could have never imagined one of them would be that horrible slut. Ross and Dem's eyes went three times their size. That witch sussed out she was pregnant, she only had the barest amount of weight in her face. Fudgy face indeed! She stared at the traffic lights speeding by in a bleak misery. George put his disgusting wife in the car like so much baggage and caught hold of Adderley before he left. "You comin'? I have primo coke in transit! You can have a nip, it goes on the street right tomorrow..." George shook his head. He was grateful Americans were so self absorbed. Margaret's poison stayed squarely between them. If she had said that, just as quiet, in Cornwall it would have been from one side of the district to the other in twenty four hours. George was livid. He couldn't even keep to being angry at Ross because Margaret had told him and his little jailbait she had slept with him AND Francis! His precious, pedigree wife might as well be a common scrubber! And he looked like a fool! "No," said George. "The bet is off," Monk recoiled. "What!? Fuck that! You can cheap out if you want but I'm nailing that chick! A red headed cunt like that? Are you kidding me!?" George was too irritated to laugh. "No. I'm changing the terms. It's no bet at all. If you pull Dem Poldark I will pay you 10 grand, outright." Monk's eyebrows raised. He put out his hand. "Sold American!" They shook on it. George entered the car and seethed all the way back to the hotel. 

Margaret made a little more effort. Hughie was a game fella and had more fuel left in him than some men his age. She had a glamorous trip to Los Angeles. She had money to spend. She had the latest handbag. She had the satisfaction of knowing Mrs. Warleggan would not enjoy her evening. She clipped little Dem's wings too. How will it feel to cling to her precious Poldark now? He was built to stray, a man's man. Dem and Elizabeth were stupid. They clung to their men. Margaret was smart. She got what she could get and moved on. She was nimble. She made them want her and she even let them think they had her, but she was smart. She could turn it on. The old men looked for any sign of girls losing interest. They were needy. Needy to pretend she wanted to be with them for anything other than money. She never got lazy, never stared at the ceiling or gave half hearted pleasure. She took her job seriously. Some get a paycheck, some punch a clock, some cling to their wedding ring and pretend there is a difference between women like them and women like her. There was a difference. Girls like Margaret knew the score. Men were dogs. Some could be domesticated. Some could be loyal, but they were, all, dogs. Other women tie themselves up in knots believing their man is better. Some women tie themselves up in knots knowing their man ain't better but clinging to him anyway. Hughie saw what he wanted to see, in a smile. Heard what he wanted to hear, in a moan. Margaret didn't overegg the pudding. She gave good value for money. Hughie dropped off to sleep feeling like he still had it after all these years. That's worth something. It will keep her when she got too old to keep at it. Maybe that wouldn't happen though. There was always an older man... When Margaret worked she looked at them. Made sure to make that eye contact. It made them relax. It made them happy. Eyes are the window to the soul. You can agree when you look at each other. Agree to pretend. Agree to be each other's in one place in one time. Hughie was asleep. Margaret stared at the ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyin' Eyes, The Eagles 1977
> 
> City girls just seem to find out early  
> How to open doors with just a smile  
> A rich old man and she won't have to worry  
> She'll dress up all in lace go in style
> 
> Late at night a big old house gets lonely  
> I guess every form of refuge has its price  
> And it breaks her heart to think her love is only  
> Given to a man with hands as cold as ice
> 
> So she tells him she must go out for the evening  
> To comfort an old friend who's feelin' down  
> But he knows where she's goin' as she's leavin'  
> She is headed for the cheatin' side of town
> 
> You can't hide your lyin' eyes  
> And your smile is a thin disguise  
> I thought by now you'd realize  
> There ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes
> 
> On the other side of town a boy is waiting  
> With fiery eyes and dreams no one could steal  
> She drives on through the night anticipating  
> 'Cause he makes her feel the way she used to feel
> 
> She rushes to his arms they fall together  
> She whispers it's only for a while  
> She swears that soon she'll be comin' back forever  
> She goes away and leaves him with a smile
> 
> You can't hide your lyin' eyes  
> And your smile is a thin disguise  
> I thought by now you'd realize  
> There ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes
> 
> She gets up and pours herself a strong one  
> And stares out at the stars up in the sky  
> Another night it's gonna be a long one  
> She draws the shade and hangs her head to cry
> 
> She wonders how it ever got this crazy  
> She thinks about a boy she knew in school  
> (Ooh...) Did she get tired or did she just get lazy?  
> (Ooh...) She's so far gone she feels just like a fool
> 
> My oh my you sure know how to arrange things  
> (Aaah...) You set it up so well so carefully  
> Ain't it funny (aaah...) how your new life didn't change things?  
> You're still the same old girl you used to be
> 
> You can't hide your lyin' eyes  
> And your smile is a thin disguise  
> I thought by now you'd realize  
> There ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes  
> There ain't no way to hide your lyin' eyes  
> Honey you can't hide your lyin' eyes
> 
> Lolita: The 1962 film directed by Stanley Kubrick and based on the 1955 novel of the same title by Vladimir Nabokov, who is also credited with writing the screenplay. The film follows Humbert Humbert, a middle-aged literature lecturer who becomes sexually infatuated with Dolores Haze (nicknamed "Lolita"), a young adolescent girl.
> 
> Flyover: unsophisticated. The idea that culture and good taste only exist on the East and West Coast. All the states in between, unfashionable space to get from one coast to the other called "flyover country".
> 
> Limey: derisive nickname for the English based on the British Navy combating the common seafaring disease Scurvy, caused by a deficiency of vitamin C, by providing limes rather than more expensive lemons or oranges
> 
> Still writing...


	8. Copacabana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl  
> With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there

"I didn't mention it because I knew it would upset you!"

Ross leaned against the dresser, arms folded in a defensive pose as he watched Dem numbly undressing in a frozen sorrow. She was not crying but looked mournful and set to burst into tears at the drop of a hat. She hung the gown in the closet and went into the bathroom shutting the door behind her. She sat on a stool near the towels hanging at the wall. She held her head in her hands. She had heard the Paynters discuss Ross' rendezvous with Elizabeth. She knew about it already. To have it bandied about by Maggie, the groupie who bragged about sleeping with Ross in the 60s, to see George's surprise and instant anger, made Dem have a sudden sympathy for the son Ross had with Elizabeth, Valentine. What was it like to believe the man raising you is your father and have that man be so aggrieved? To see Elizabeth flustered. That was the damning proof for Dem. Elizabeth was a scheming sort of person. She wasn't above lying, she might have lied to defend herself in front of her husband but Margaret's taunt had rattled Elizabeth too much to do so. Maggie said she had "all your men..." Francis too? That was too raw a provocation for Elizabeth and Ross' first response was astonishment. Dem saw him gobsmacked at Maggie telling George about Sawle Church. She was seeing Hugh Brodrugan. He was most often in London but Weary House was quite near in their district. _'E was kissin' tha cow in the churchyard! If I could see it, who else might 'ave?!_ Dem had the strange urge to laugh. That of all the people who could know of Ross and Elizabeth being in that churchyard it would be Margaret Vosper who laid it out like a gambler with a winning hand in front of the four people it could wound the most, all of them assembled here, in California. Dem had a shower. Ordinarily she would have a bath but she just wanted to put the covers over her head and will tomorrow to come. She would wear her princess dress and have a good time. She would have fun with Caroline and Blue and Hugh and not think about anything sad. She would be a bright young thing in the heart of the American music industry. Hugh intended to see and be seen, be noticed and give the West Coast executives a reason to look favorably upon them later. She was here to work, to put herself forward. Let tomorrow come. Dem would set all her sadnesses aside and be a star...

Washed and ready for bed Dem entered the room. Ross was sitting at the table looking dejected. He looked to her and they stared at each other. She was the first to turn away. She got into bed and curled up into a little ball. Ross watched Dem shrink into herself under the covers. He got up, had a shower, readied for bed. He entered the bed and risked laying a hand at her back. She did not move. "Good night, Ross..." she said quietly. "Dem..." began Ross. She did not move. She lay quiet. Ross saw that as a signal to continue. "Dem, I was inside Sawle Church and Elizabeth came in to escape a sudden rainstorm. It was not planned... We talked of things." "What things?"asked Dem sullenly. Ross hesitated. They had spoken of Dem and Malcolm, of their May night of tainted night of passion, of his relapse, of Valentine. None of these issues had a bearing on his explanation now. "No matter." said Ross. "What we talked of doesn’t affect what I have to say now. It was the first time I’d seen her alone since – well, for years. I think at the end of the meeting we had come a little nearer accord than since – since she married George. She’s still a beautiful creature, a woman of a sweet nature, kind and honest and far too good for that fellow she has married. I say all this to you deliberately for it is my view of her." Dem sank into the pillow more. _a beautiful creature, a woman of a sweet nature, kind and honest and far too good..._ Dem closed her eyes. Elizabeth was a scheming, greedy... "I’m pleased to hear it.” said Dem, sarcastically. "No, you are not," said Ross, gently. "But no matter. What I want to say is I came away from that meeting with the renewed conviction that she no longer meant anything to me – that is, in the way you do. I loved her once – as you know too well – and idealized her. I shall always think of her with admiration and affection." Ross drew nearer under the sheets. Came closer and lay his face near, spoke quietly. "But... she won’t ever be central to me as you are – preoccupying, all-important, indispensable, both as a person and a woman..." There was silence. Dem had not moved but he imagined the sensation of her becoming even more still. Ross was aware as he spoke that he had hesitated too long to say this and now had chosen the worst possible moment, when there was a half-animosity stirring between them. Dem heard Ross and even believed him but it did not help. It was a truth she could believe but in this moment, and certainly knowing her own rash dishonesty in New York, she felt lost. To admit she had overheard the Paynters talking about Ross and Elizabeth in the churchyard and already knew, seemed like an exercise in futility. To admit anything else, overseas with the men in question as their travel companions was out of the question. Dem sighed and said in a muffled voice: “Oh, Ross, it is a strange world.” Ross said, ruefully, "I’d not argue with that." Dem sighed. "Words never say quite what we want them to say, do they?" "Mine certainly never do. I’m glad you appreciate it." said Ross. "No, I didn’t mean that." said Dem. "Not _you_ – not just what you say – but all. Everyone. And even where there is love there is misunderstanding. We try to speak to each other like through a glass, all of us. But Ross... How can I answer what you’ve just said?" Dem murmured. "Can you not?" he asked. "Not quite. I think to speak now wouldn’t help – it would," _I love a bonny lassie._ _.._ "It might create more misunderstanding than it cleared away." she said. "On whose side?" asked Ross. "Maybe on both..." said Dem. _Vous êtes une déesse, je t'aime..._ Dem closed her eyes. "Ross, I have no reply just at present. Do you mind?" she said, sadly. "Should I?" Ross asked. Dem curled up again. "I think I must lie quiet," she said. "I feel rather alone." Ross put his hand on her hair and felt it between his fingers. So he had said his piece and Dem accepted it, did not argue, did not challenge him. His explanation of his own feelings was to be accepted without question. Even his meeting with Elizabeth. It was good that she took this attitude. But how good? And for what reason? He felt, perhaps illogically, no happier for her quiet reply. It seemed to him that it boded less well for their marriage than an outburst would have done.

"Darling!"

Caroline air kissed a tall, spindly man with a wide smile and a nose like a Roman statue, a strong profile with a pronounced ridge at the top. Dressed all in black, black trousers, black roll neck shirt. Soft brown eyes that crinkled a knowing, gossipy personality and brown hair long enough to be floppy but not so long. He had a little suitcase in one hand as he raised the other like laying an oath. "I am rushed OFF MY FEET! But I made a priority of you dear!" she batted his eyelashes at Caroline who laughed in delight. He turned his focus to Demelza. "DEM!" Dem smiled in an uncertain happiness. He spoke like he knew her. "Dearie ME, child!" He looked her up and down. You were made for that dress! I shall be equal to the task! I have a secret weapon!" Caroline grinned. "Dem, please meet Xavier Talot. A wizard of make up!" They shook hands. "Enchanté! I've heard so much about you!" Dem's eyebrows raised as she giggled. "Really?" He nodded as he brought his case to the table and opened it up. "YOU are making a mark, dearie!" He said, rummaging through his supplies. "You got your girlie in the right circle, Caro!" Dem had not heard Caroline answer to any diminutive before. "The buzz is real! Dem Poldark got name checked by Diana Ross at Tommy Mattola's house! Do you know what she said?" They shook their heads 'no', Caroline like the cat that got the cream and Dem in shock. Xavier crowed, "She said, 'Oh!" mimicking the singers voice. "'I met her at Judith's trunk show! She's so sweet! A little English girl!" Dem smiled. "Child!" he said to Dem. "I am in clover! By tomorrow EVERYBODY is going to know I styled you. I'm going to shout it from the rooftops!" He found what he was looking for, waved a plastic case in the air over his head. "I have the NEWEST Max Factor eyeshadow! "Cleopatra"! You two will be the first to debut it! You'll be twins! It's gold glitter lapis lazuli! It will match both dresses!" And Dem sat next to Caroline and let Xavier work his magic.

"Fuckin' Hell! Steady on, lassies! You'll slay 'em all dead!"

Ross heard Malcolm in the hallway. A happy explosion of giggles. Dem had gone to Caroline's room to be prepared for the party. They must have emerged. The door opened and Dem came in. Ross had been facing that direction because he was straightening his tie in the mirror. Dem could see Ross and his reflection at the side react. His mouth fell open in horror. Dem tilted her chin up in a show of defiance and felt the extra weight of the fall on her head. It was carefully pinned and she was promised by Caroline and Xavier that she could dare to spring a cartwheel and it would remain in place on her head. She could see Ross didn't like it. "Don't you like it?" asked Dem. Ross snapped shut his mouth. Everything he had feared when Dem had her photoshoot for Orange Amps and was avoided then had come to fruition tonight. Dem looked glamorous and fashionable in a gold lamé dress that wasn't any longer than a New York minute, shoes to match with strapy bits like a sandal and a thick, teetering heel. Designed for dance and as gold as the dress, a false second layer of hair that rivaled a lions mane and blue eye make up that had gold glitter in it. Her bracelets heralded her approach, far too many gold bangles, some of them scattered with blue gems, some plain. If she made any false moves or sneezed her breasts might fly free. Ross was shocked. Shocked and offended. Dem looked hideous. Ross could see Dem daring him to speak his mind. He had better sense than to start a row, they were just out the door to leave. "Is Caroline so attired?" asked Ross, slowly, evenly. Polite. Dem smiled, a red slice of a painted smile. "Yes! Her dress is Blue! The eye shadow matches both dresses..." Ross and Dem gazed at each other. The happy romp they had been enjoying, the return to an easier affection between them had been punctured by Maggie Vosper's tale telling. Their fragile and growing return to joy stamped upon and dented, yet again, by Elizabeth. They both lamented this. They were both angry. Ross was on the back foot once more and Dem was exhausted by her own secrets and Elizabeth's hold over Ross. They were going to the sort of event Ross detested. Dem loved her dress and make up. Ross was disapproving. That made Dem even more determined to shine tonight. They didn't speak and in that moment they had decoupled. They would attend this event but a line had been drawn in the sand between them. Dem's embrace of this show business frippery. _I wish you well of it..._ thought Ross in bitterness. Ross' intractable bloody- mindedness! Never leaving Elizabeth alone, never trying to cooperate. Always a grump lurking the corner of things clinging to a drink glass for dear life, never even trying to enjoy himself. _You just watch me..._ thought Dem in bitterness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copacabana, Barry Manilow 1978
> 
> Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl  
> With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there  
> She would merengue and do the cha-cha  
> And while she tried to be a star  
> Tony always tended bar  
> Across the crowded floor, they worked from eight til four  
> They were young and they had each other  
> Who could ask for more?
> 
> At the copa (co) Copacabana (Copacabana)  
> The hottest spot north of Havana (here)  
> At the copa (co) Copacabana  
> Music and passion were always the fashion  
> At the copa they fell in love
> 
> Copa, Copacabana  
> His name was Rico  
> He wore a diamond  
> He was escorted to his chair, he saw Lola dancing there  
> And when she finished, he called her over  
> But Rico went a bit to far  
> Tony sailed across the bar  
> And then the punches flew and chairs were smashed in two  
> There was blood and a single gun shot  
> But just who shot who?
> 
> At the copa (co) Copacabana (Copacabana)  
> The hottest spot north of Havana (here)  
> At the copa (co) Copacabana  
> Music and passion were always the fashion  
> At the copa, she lost her love  
> (Copa, Copacabana)  
> (Copa, Copacabana)  
> (Copacabana)
> 
> like in Havana  
> (Copa, banana)  
> Music and passion were always in fashion
> 
> Her name is Lola, she was a showgirl  
> But that was thirty years ago, when they used to have a show  
> Now it's a disco, but not for Lola  
> Still in dress she used to wear  
> Faded feathers in her hair  
> She sits there so refined, and drinks herself half-blind  
> She lost her youth and she lost her Tony  
> Now she's lost her mind
> 
> At the copa (co) Copacabana (Copacabana)  
> The hottest spot north of Havana (here)  
> At the copa (co) Copacabana  
> Music and passion were always in fashion  
> At the copa don't fall in love
> 
> don't fall in love  
> (Copacabana)  
> (Copacabana)
> 
> Barry Manilow won a Grammy for Best Male Pop Vocal Performance February 1979
> 
> Still writing. Back, er, whenever...


	9. Second Hand News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music and passion were always in fashion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sir Hugh" and "Hughie" is Sir Hugh Brodrugan, EMI Records
> 
> Plain "Hugh" is Hugh Armitage, WEA(Warner) Records

The party was a huge, sprawling affair with large, round tables for the guests to dine and then dancing afterwards. They all lost track of each other quite at once for Ross, in a dark blue suit, was determined to find their table and sit, Hugh, crisp and debonaire in a white suit, and Caroline in the blue version of the same dress Dem was wearing, were already running into people to talk to and Red and Blue were already exploring the room full of different people before the dining area proper, full of corporate executives and industry professionals. Full of stars. Chattery, fast talking, utterly friendly people who happened to be well known with an openness and a sense of fun. Red and Blue were starstruck and flattered in equal measure and excited the interest of many who were curious about glamorous looking young couple that so many of the session men and English people were recognizing, _that guy over there said they were on TV in England, OH! You're Dem Poldark! Malcolm! Are you in L.A. now? Holy shit! This is the drummer I met in New York!, You were smashing on Whistle Test! I saw you in Brighton, are you going to tour? Who styled you?! You look outrageous!! You look divine!! Have you met Barry Manilow? He's here somewhere... Who's that girl? I just had to tell you how marvelous you Whistle Test set was! A triumph! We met at Judith's, Hi!_ Malcolm and Demelza might have died and gone to heaven. So many musicians Malcolm knew from New York, people from England who saw the Old Grey Whistle Test performance and wanted to tell them it was good, American stars and the sort of wives and girlfriends who heard of Dem when Caroline brought her about shoppping when they first arrived made them feel like they truly belonged here not just out and about for a look see. Everyone friendly and happy and making them feel like proper stars too! Blue and Red admired each other, Malcolm sharp as a tack in a dark green suit; a colour that he insisted on in the rental place because he knew which tie he wanted to wear, Dem in her golden finery and, with grins a mile wide, looked for their table. She saw Ross ahead and they came closer. Demelza slowed a little. Malcolm watched Red's mouth fall open and tried to look at what she was seeing as people still milled about. His eyes widened. The organizers, believing that so many people from the same part of England might appreciate being seated together had conjured a minefield. Seated in front of their name cards and visibly ill at ease with each other were, Ross, Elizabeth, George, Sir Hugh Brodrugan with Margaret Vosper as his companion and, on the other side of the chairs reserved for them, Hugh and Caroline with two empty seats for other people in between. At first horrified, Demelza saw this dinner table as the height of absurdity. She stared to giggle. Then she started to laugh. Ross heard Dem somewhere, laughing somewhere. He turned to see Dem laughing and Malcolm looking quizzically at her. Ross scowled. Dem’s eyes were the first thing he saw, like two black eyes, made up like a fucking panda bear in a zoo with that daft eyeshadow. She and Caroline were doing decadence down a treat tonight, thought Ross sarcastically. Dem whispered to Malcolm and his eyebrows raised as they drew their faces near in rapid conversation. Sir Hugh looked to where Poldark was and grinned, elbowed Margaret in a jolity. "What?" hissed Maggie, relieved she hadn't started putting on lipstick. Brodrugan whispered. "Poldark's bird! That Malcolm is having it off with her! Her eyes flicked to Ross, he scowled at her still sore that she told Dem about Sawle Church and she met it with and angelic expression of contentment. "Really?" she asked from the corner of her mouth. Sir Hugh leaned closer. "Yep! You were at that party, I think... We lay bets to see who would get her. Young Malcolm didn't even bother with a wager, just scooped her up and left with her! The Scottish temperament, don't you know? Brash!" Margaret recalled that night. She'd teased Dem over sleeping with Ross in the early Sixties. She sneered at them both then, a broke looking kid and Poldark's little schoolgirl. She had to admit the two of them were cutting a dash at this event. They were nobodies at Hughie's salon then but the wheel had turned. Dem was on the charts, on TV. Dem was made up like the other woman, astonishing hair, made up within an inch of their lives and in enviable, super cute dresses, the drummer was in a good suit that must have cost a bomb. And Margaret didn't think Hughie was right at first but Dem did look cozy with her drummer though. Blue whispered, "You're 'avin' me on!" Red shook her head. "Fuckin' hell!" Demelza laughed. Hugh was concerned. They were not that different, they were often silly, clingy, but Ross was watching them in a dark looking mood. They shared an aside and a look between them that was not that of friendship alone. Caroline was watching with interest as were Brodrugan and his girlfriend who seemed to taunt Ross over the sight of Malcolm and Demelza arriving.

"Not only are we stuck sitting with them," said Dem in dismay, "but that Margaret slept with Elizabeth's first husband AND George!" whispered Red. Blue's mouth fell open. They had met at Sir Hugh's salon and that same woman had ganged up on Red with a load of other women and harassed her upstairs where Blue lent her his handkerchief. She had been upset from Maggie saying she slept with Ross some time back, before her married Red. One of the first things Red said to him when they met. And now they was all in Los Angeles and she had slept with both husbands of the woman who had a bairn with Red's husband! All sittin' there like a kiddie table in Nan's lounge at Christmas time! He protested in shock, "You're 'avin' me on!" Red shook her head in a gallows humor. Malcolm looked ahead in wonder, then he shook his head in incredulity. "Fuckin' hell!" Demelza laughed. Malcolm was struck by the group. Sir Hugh kept banging on about his suspicion that Malcolm had an affair with Red. Malcolm had cause to deny it up to now. Told Brodrugan outright that it weren't true. But now... Blue's eyes crinkled with mirth along with a warm smile and Red blinked an amused reply, smiled as if Malcolm had spoken aloud, as if the thought between them had been spoken aloud, "We ain't no better, lass..." Blue might have said. "With bells on!" Red might have said. They were struck by the absurdity of the situation and laughed together in a happy conspiracy of two who shared a secret. They hadn't a leg to stand on and it struck them in the funny bone. Malcolm and Demelza spent an entire day making love together as well as a wild night in bed with Hugh when they had been in New York City. The strangeness of the table full of people knotted together in their various sins was a rich joke to Dem who so often felt sorrow over Elizabeth's hold on Ross, their child raised to believe his father was George, her feeling of despair that she would forever be second in Ross' heart. Love, but a second class sort of love. It pained her repeatedly. It brought her the exceptional performance on TV that so many people were lauding her for here in an entirely different country. Dem would not have performed 'In The Pines' in that set if she had not had her heart so dashed by hearing the Paynters talking of Ross and Elizabeth in Sawle churchyard. Now, so satisfied in being given so many compliments, on her performance, for her clothes and fashionable look, with her best friend at her side in a glittering playground of music luminaries and important industy people who treated a working class Scot and a Luggy with respect, told them they were the bees knees! In this moment Dem had a new insight. Francis was right. She did not need to fear Elizabeth for all she kept kicking dents into the surface of Dem's life with Ross. Dem had her own worth, her own life and Ross was her husband. He did love her. First? It didn't matter. They were equal. He had his dalliances and now Dem had hers. They had both been on Top Of The Pops and she had been on Old Grey Whistle Test too! Dem was rising and Elizabeth was a tired looking corporate wife married to George Warleggan, bound to be miserable together. She'd be rich and he'd be miserable. Ross said he had rid himself of his obsession of Elizabeth but even if he changed his mind one day it did not have to matter. Ross loved her and their children. She loved Ross and their children. Dem had her own music and Blue by her side. Dem had Hugh to look after her interests and tell her twenty times a day that she was a goddess while smirking a belief that the only way was up. More success, more accolades, more fun. She was a star and she would have fun tonight and not pay Elizabeth or Margaret a bit of mind. Caroline was in a dress that matched hers and they would look smashing together. Going around having fun with a girlfriend in the way she daydreamed about sitting all alone in Nampara with no friends to plot and plan and go around with. Staring after other girls who had close friends. Wishing she had a close friend. She smiled at Blue. She had a close friend. Blue was her friend, he pushed her to see things differently, to try her luck, to go for it and here they were, two proper rockers in America and two dear friends who trusted each other and even took a bit of greedy happiness for themselves too. Blue smiled back. He was wearing the green and black tie he wore when they went out to dinner after they spent the day in bed and he didn't say anything in this moment he simply looked at her as if to say, 'We're in a glass house, and it's our secret...' and Dem laughed with her good friend in the heart of the American music industry.

Margaret watched Ross' little school girl and the drummer do that sparkle eye thing that you see in kids on the bus sometimes. When you have nowhere else to look, starin' at kids cause you're trapped on a bus and the schoolkids are let out for the day. They did that 'we had it off cause mum n dad is both at work and the house is empty' goo goo eye thing, when kids are too dopey to be sensible about getting some and the boy buys sweets with his pocket money like a bloke buying roses and champagne cause they's just kids and what else would a kid that age do? Margaret thought Hughie was wrong at first, that Dem was too timid to dare step out on her Daddy Long Legs rocker. Ross looked away, waiting at the table, annoyed to be trapped here with an old flame, his mistress, her husband and a scarecrow of a drummer looking very cozy with 'Thy Sweetness'. "She leaned in to whisper a conspiratorial joke with Sir Hugh. "Well, well, well! I think you may be right, Hughie. I think our Dem might be well acquainted with her drummer's soft wood stick!" He slapped down his drink and laughed which startled the others at the table. "Hahahaha!" It was a horrible sound, compounded of a lion’s roar and a donkey bray. It brought notice from others in the room, marveling at the display of humor in startled wonder akin to fear. Brodrugan recovered himself, leaned near Maggie and tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger, "The nose knows!" whispered Sir Hugh. "Here they come! Here they come! Act natural!" Dem and Malcolm approached the table. "Good evening, all!" said Dem in a bright sounding greeting. Malcolm met Sir Hugh's eyes and nodded 'hello', a bit unnerved by the older man's look of amusement. "Demelza! Malcolm! I was just saying to Armitage, don’t you know, I saw you all on the Whistle Test! Congratulations!" He raised his glass as Maggie could not help but stare at Dem. All evidence of Ross’ timid little ninny was gone. A newly minted pop star with Ross resigned to holding her handbag, holding her hem off the ground like a lackey. She had her drummer on a string and her husband on a leash doing whatever she pleased with her girlfriend riding shot gun in the same outfit and that Armitage getting her on the telly and in the charts like her own personal wizard. "Thanks!" said Dem, happily. Malcolm had a satisfied grin and they looked to each other, proud. For all the emotional baggage they were very proud of their Whistle Test set. They sat down and she looked at Ross. He gave a tight smile that showed his attitude about her dress and make up had not improved and his irritation of being placed at this table next to Liza, George and Maggie looking superior some seats away. Margaret was enjoying watching all three of them in discomfort. The Warleggans, looked visibly annoyed. This Los Angeles trip was like Sartre’s “No Exit”. At every turn the Poldarks and now Margaret Vosper were skeletons at the feast ruining what should have been a nice working holiday. George wanted to smack that smug smile off that tart’s face. Elizabeth wanted to go back to the hotel, just quit. It was early days but the fetus seemed to pull a bell, for service, incessantly. Stamping on her bladder like an acceleration pedal, to compel Liza to sleep at the drop of a hat, to crave sweets, taking over her body with the same brusque attitude of George. Geoffrey Charles had simply floated within her in good natured harmony. Valentine moved unceasingly, kicked like a mule and unruly. This little George was needy. That Margaret still smirking her revenge... Ross kept turning up like a bad penny, Dem was the victor this night. She looked astonishing and had this American crowd in the palm of her hand, had Ross in the palm of her hand. How a slip of a guttersnipe like that could dangle that drummer over Ross’ head and he just take it! Elizabeth wouldn’t have believed it possible. She would beg tiredness and go back to the hotel, there was nothing for Liza here. Ross glowered into his glass of water, thinking ruefully he would need stronger stuff to make it through this party... Caroline raised her glass to Demelza and Malcolm, still amused that Hugh seemed oblivious to his bandmates’ being more than a little smitten. They might have done the deed... she thought. Malcolm had a look flash between him and Dem that suggested intimacy, not just “good friends”. Caroline thought Ross looked grumpy, he just wasn’t a party person and his young wife was giggling with her cute, young drummer. But wouldn’t you be grumpy if your brassy old flame was making fun of you? Vosper certainly said something about the Poldarks to her sugar daddy just then. Sir Hugh laughed like an animal getting slaughtered! Hugh nodded hello to his band mates, seated two seats away at the round table. There were name cards set at the chairs between them for the people who had not arrived. Hugh considered switching the cards to sit Caroline and himself next to Malcolm but did not want to break the etiquette of the hosts' arrangement. He saw the volley of gazes and looks and was watching the tense display of drama in utter confusion. He knew Warleggan's wife was the woman Ross had a kid with but why did they all looked so aggrieved by Brodrugan's escort... Hugh leaned to Caroline, a whisper over the edge of his wine glass in an intimate, baffled query. "What is happening? Why they are all so bitter? They look as if the waiters should remove all the knives!" Caroline, no stranger to Cornish tittle tattle, whispered, "Sir Hugh's girlfriend is a notorious Grande Horizontal..." Hugh wore his sunglasses, intending to remove them as the party got going and was grateful for them at this moment because his eyes blinked wider at the implications. "Are you saying...?" hissed Hugh in a baffled whisper. Ross, Elizabeth and George looked sour and Brodrugan's date looked the picture of serenity. Hansel and Gretel were barely holding in laughter. Caroline masked her answer behind her wine glass. "It is quite old tattle that she was going with Francis Poldark, Mrs. Warleggan's late, first husband. It is also quite likely she is acquainted with Dem's husband and Mr. Warleggan. Dem saw Hugh's eyebrows raise over his sunglasses in surprise. She could see Caroline had told him of the predicament, for his eyebrows went up like exclamation points. It made her giggle which made Malcolm twist his mouth not to. They were struck with a silly mood. Hugh suddenly saw the information spool out like a coupier at a casino, dealing the deck and laying out the various configurations. Ross, George, his wife's first husband and, presumably, Brodrugan all slept with Margaret. Demelza, Elizabeth and Margaret slept with Ross. Demelza and Elizabeth bore Ross Poldark children. Demelza had slept with Ross, Malcolm and himself. The only person with no entanglements was Caroline who knew enough Cornish gossip to inform him to begin with. Blue caught Red's eye and they started laughing again. Ross glowered at Dem. It was clear Caroline had said something about Margaret to Hugh and Dem snickering with Malcolm over it was childish. This whole situation was absurd. Hugh turned to look at Hansel and Gretel sniggering and frowned. They were acting simple, laughing at the expense of the others as Demelza's husband looked on in increasing irritation. It was indiscreet. Hugh stood and walked around to their seats. These damned tables might as well be swimming pools they're so humongous! Hugh leaned in between them, a hand at the back of Malcolm's chair, his black glasses that much more stark against his white suit, looking stark as they both turned to him in poorly controlled giggles. "I have no doubt you find this a humorous situation but you lot need to pull yourselves together. Now." said Hugh in a crisp directive. Ross strained to hear Armitage but could not even as Dem was next to him. Between the music, the width of the table and the shield of false hair at the back of her head, he was at a loss even as he was seated next to her. Dem and Malcolm composed themselves, drinking water as a refreshment and a reset. They got told off by Hugh which was funnier if they had cause to laugh more but Red and Blue did as they were bid. Hugh sat back down in the same no nonsense manner. People did stare, he looked regal all in white, he was with those interesting looking Brits and the girlfriends were dressed like twins. Hugh’s chilly arrogance shone from him and he had a good looking crew with him. This made him intriguing to the guests in this L.A. crowd as they drank and gossiped and people watched. _That guy’s French. He’s a WEA guy, a frog! Who is he, Oh man, that guy, I want what he’s got can you imagine what they get up to tonight?! Warner, out in Europe! He produced that French girl, what’s her name!?_ Caroline smiled over her sip of wine with a merry look of admiration. Malcolm and Demelza were talking amongst themselves now, still merry, but without the giggling Hugh found offensive. "My goodness, Hugh! You wrangled them into obedience! Did you threaten to send them to bed without any supper? You looked quite authoritarian!" Hugh gave a bark of a laugh, "Ha!", clinked glasses with Caroline and took a sip of wine with a dark chuckle of amusement. _Send them to bed_...

Ross looked at Dem. her manager brought her and Malcolm to heel. He said tartly, “Something amuses you...?” Dem turned to look at Ross, gestured to Elizabeth, mother of his child and Margaret, the bringer of bad tidings as a former lover and a tattle tale, telling Dem and George about Sawle churchyard. “I have to laugh to keep from crying.” quipped Dem. Ross looked away. Drank water as something to do with his hands and promised himself a Vieux Carré after the hell that was this dinner table was past. Maybe two. “And if you’re wondering,” announced Margaret to the table as a whole. “We ‘ave to stay put still the photographer takes our picture, they want a picture of each table.” She took out a powder compact and patted the shine from her nose. “After that we can leave our prison, right Georgie?” George sneered at her. A proper picture of an extremely angry sneer and Margaret batted her eyelashes at him. Caroline sipped her wine watching with interest. Margaret was a live wire. “Ah! My dear,” said Sir Hugh. “This isn’t a prison, surely!” Maggie leveled an innocent look at George, who was scowling at her, Elizabeth and her thousand yard stare into the distance and Ross wishing his water was a mite stronger. She smiled like a cat that got the cream, in a Halston dress thank you very much, Hughie... “Purgatory, perhaps...” smiled Margaret. 

Dinner was served. The meal interrupted by people darting in, leaning over the chair backs to introduce themselves, to reintroduce themselves, to talk to these British people, that drummer “from New York” in a happy reunion of a fraternity of session players. Women who had seen Dem about this week. Producers, proper movie men asking if Ross was an actor with terse replies of “No.” This devilish looking white suited guy with the sunglasses on indoors. _Oh they said you were French!_ George was put off his meal. He had a great licensing deal with Casablanca Records but all he could think as people from every corner of the industry were obsessed with Ross’ jailbait wife and her traveling circus was that line in the movie, “Of all the gin joints in this town!” Why now? Why does Poldark forever ruin EVERYTHING? George ate his meal with no interruptions at all. Perhaps he should have made Elizabeth dress like a trapeze artist whore, that get up of Dem and her partner in crime by Armitage seemed to be all people round here care about! Elizabeth went home. She'd had enough. This stilted dinner trapped with Ross and George on either side of her with that woman AGAIN, preening in Halston next to that old man! Dem in her finery and matching lady in waiting, laughing with her drummer as all these Americans made a fuss over them, laughing at her. Even laughing at Ross it seemed. It was Dem's world, apparently. She had Ross at heel, that drummer of hers for a lover, a manager who knew how to open all the doors in Los Angeles that stayed firmly closed to George and Liza. An early night was the only solution. She was too pregnant for Diazepam. George saw Elizabeth to the car. He returned in time to see Monk Adderley dancing with Dem Poldark. He was nothing if not determined.

Monk had moves, and notoriety. Many in this place loathed him but he had power in this town and that was an equalizer. He was just ruthless enough to be useful in Los Angeles and sometimes that was enough. As a conduit for making connections he was good at what he did. He helped out that English guy, George, scoop up a Casablanca licensing deal for his outfit in England and that dude offered him a ton of cash to bed this chick. She was hot as hell, a new girl around town. She danced well too, knew how to look good, make him look good. This was premium tail and her husband was at the bar not giving a goddamn. If he was for real he'd be dancing with her but he's the sort that likes arm candy. You can ALWAYS take candy from a guy who's not paying attention. Monk was going to get a massive payday. Dem danced to the music with this one, with that one, some were even famous, you could switch directions and have a different partner for a while Malcolm had loads of people he knew from his days in New York so they split the night. Blue would catch up with the guys he knew, she would dance and then they'd go about together, stay together until they went home. This guy had a fun sort of theatrical way of dancing and bouncing off his movements, showing off a little, the sort of dancer who knows how to make the other person look good as well as be a bit of a peacock. He had introduced himself at the cocktail party earlier in the week. "You're a little firecracker, aren't you?!" said Monk as the song ended and knots of dancers broke up to chit chat, to find drinks, to mingle. Dem laughed. "I bet you say that to all the redheads!" she looked about for Caroline but didn't see her. "That's one color I still haven't gotten!" said Monk, pointing to a brooch on his lapel. Dem looked at it closer. It was a dark silk spider web under glass, minutely braided, one would need a magnifying glass or a jeweler's loop to work such fine thread. It was old fashioned looking. This man's flashy sky blue suit looked old fashioned too, with an ascot tucked down into the matching vest, not a regular tie, pinned in place with a diamond stud. He grinned. "You know what it is?" he said in a bragging tone of voice. Dem said, cheerfully, "A spiderweb!" Monk laughed. Her accent was comical. "No, I mean you know what it's made of?" Dem shook her head 'no'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second Hand News, Fleetwood Mac, 1977
> 
> I know there's nothin' to say  
> Someone has taken my place  
> When times go bad  
> When times go rough  
> Won't you lay me down in tall grass  
> And let me do my stuff
> 
> I know I got nothin' on you  
> I know there's nothin' to do  
> When times go bad  
> And you can't get enough  
> Won't you lay me down in the tall grass  
> And let me do my stuff
> 
> One thing I think you should know  
> I ain't gonna miss you when you go  
> Been down so long  
> I've been tossed around enough  
> Aww, couldn't you just  
> Let me go down and do my stuff
> 
> I know you're hopin' to find  
> Someone who's gonna give you peace of mind  
> When times go bad  
> When times go rough  
> Won't you lay me down in tall grass  
> And let me do my stuff
> 
> Do it, do it, do it
> 
> I'm just second hand news  
> I'm just second hand news, yeah  
> I'm just second hand news  
> I'm just second hand news, yeah  
> I'm just second hand news  
> I'm just second hand news, yeah  
> I'm just second hand news  
> I'm just second hand news, yeah  
> Yeah
> 
> cost a bomb: expensive 
> 
> Grande Horizontal: Courtesan, prostitute, particularly one with wealthy, powerful, or influential clients. 
> 
> Diazepam: Valium
> 
> No Exit: (French: Huis clos) is a 1944 existentialist French play by Jean-Paul Sartre. The original title is the French equivalent of the legal term in camera, referring to a private discussion behind closed doors. The play begins with three characters who find themselves waiting in a mysterious room. It is a depiction of the afterlife in which three deceased characters are punished by being locked into a room together for eternity. It is the source of Sartre's especially famous phrase "L'enfer, c'est les autres" or "Hell is other people"
> 
> Vieux Carré: rye whiskey, cognac, sweet vermouth liqueur, Bénédictine, and Peychaud's bitters. This is a New Orleans specialty but Ross was introduced to this 1930s drink in 1960s New York City
> 
> Of all the gin joints in this town!: "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine." In the 1942 movie Casablanca, Algerian nightclub owner Rick, played by Humphrey Bogart, is jolted by the unexpected appearance of his lost Parisian love Ilsa.


	10. John I'm Only Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His name was Rico  
> He wore a diamond  
> He was escorted to his chair, he saw Lola dancing there

Kick It Out

"It's hair!"

"Hair?!" exclaimed Dem, surprised that the ornament on this man's lapel was not silk, so finely crocheted like a spider's web behind glass. Dem looked closely and Monk Adderley took the opportunity to stare down into the well of her décolletage as she was doing so. The colours were different. Hair from different people. She stepped back with a smile. Such an odd looking thing. That he was proud of it probably meant he kept the hair of his girlfriends. She had to shout a bit. The music was loud. "It's from your girlfriends? The hair?" she asked. That it was in the shape of a spider's web was a bit cheeky. Never been caught? Is that it? He grinned. "Naw, babe! These are all losers. When I fight, I fight to win and when I win I put another braid on my web. I never tangoed with a redheaded guy!" Dem looked him up and down. He wasn't the muscle man sort. Not stocky or built up. Monk watched the chick give him the once over. 'God. Damn.' thought Monk. 'This will be the easiest money he ever made. The girl was a machine! She was game, you could see it!' He tilted his chin up, posing, hoping to look 'hot'. "You like...?" he grinned and wiggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx. Dem giggled at this, not realizing he thought she was sizing him up for a tryst. 'Holy shit, she's _laughing_ , I'm gonna need those Chinese herbs! I'll need stamina! This girl is the real deal!' thought Monk. "You don't look like a fighter. You fought other men and then took their hair?!" asked Dem. It sounded even stranger as an idea asking the question. Monk shrugged in a ease that was not modesty, a truth he saw for himself. "I'm a good shot. You don't need muscle if you've got a gun..." Dem's mouth fell open. She looked at him in utter surprise and her eyes widened. That did all sorts to Adderley. That big hair and that pretty mouth... He gave Dem a sly smile. He had a pair of handcuffs with fox fur on them, made special, from Germany. He didn't use them on just anyone. He might try his luck and keep Poldark's lollipop. She was winner. "You should close your mouth sweet cheeks," said Monk over the music in a sing song casualness and a knowing smile. "Someone might find a way to fill it." Dem closed her mouth, still surprised he freely admitted to shooting people as well as keeping their hair as a trophy. She might not have danced with him if she heard that story first. "You really shot people?!" asked Dem. He shrugged. "It's a dog eat dog world, babe. I like to be the one on top!" She quailed but he looked past her. "Hey! It's your other half!" Dem turned thinking he meant Ross but Caroline, in her similar hairstyle and dress, was approaching.

Ross watched all of them, looking at them all in this huge party. Losing sight of them in the dancers and people milling about and finding each of them again. Caroline looked at home in her dress talking with other ladies, Malcolm was shouting to be heard over the din in conversation with this one, with that one, musicians who knew of him from New York, session people who made the music happen behind the bigger names. Malcolm looked as connected as Hugh, holding a drink in gregarious conversation, exclaiming in delight at running into someone he knew, slapping backs shaking hands, already having pulled his tie loose but uncharacteristicly keeping his jacket on like a "good soldier", Hugh also chatting alongside corporate types, standing out in his white suit, drink in hand, that half shouting talk while the music blared. Ross saw them find each other in the press of people, Malcolm chattering excitedly to Armitage like a kid telling a parent all he did at school. It was an uncharitable thought but Ross did think it, watching them. Malcolm and Demelza were naïfs in this tooth and claw jungle, only able to see the shiny surfaces of thing, not the rot underneath. Hugh and Malcolm looked about, found Ross at the bar and then raised their glasses to him. Ross raised his with a sardonic smile. Dem's band in Hell. Enjoying themselves in this ring of Hell and about to watch the floor show.

Caroline had her twin, she in blue, Dem in gold, quite alike. She heard "Miss You" by the Rolling Stones as she came to collect her and shouted to Dem in a mischief, "Come on, darling! Hugh said you know how to dance!" Dem nodded, eagerly. Caroline, wanting to transition Dem away from some of these men on the dancefloor, (that last fellow was rumored to be a drug dealer with a horrid reputation) said, "Let's show the boys a thing or two! Dance with me!" Dem laughed. Dancing in their matching dresses would be fun. The music was slow, and Dem blinked surprise that Caroline extended her arm like a man would and giggled herself into the spirit of the thing. School days... 'I've been waitin' in the hall, Been waitin' on your call, Your phone rings...' Caroline and Dem slow danced as a couple in their matching dress with a bright, blameless happiness, cheekiness. Ross' mouth fell open and shut back up, standing at the bar staring, watching men whistle and shout encouragement from different parts of the room. Hugh smirked his approval as Malcolm's eyebrows raised. Hugh turned to say something to him and Ross could see Malcolm flustered, smile with a look of being teased. Hugh was not above teasing Malcolm after all, it seemed. 'Singin' after dark, People think I'm crazy...' Dem and Caroline stood somewhat in place, forehead to forehead in a slow dance that had Caroline as 'the man' and Dem as 'the woman' but they were in matching mini dresses and Dem's happy laughter was bringing an unwitting layer of seduction into it all. Were Caroline and Dem so alike, these pretty girls in their fashionable look, dancing? 'Oh everybody waits so long, Oh baby, why you wait so long?, Won't you come on, come on...' Caroline twirled Dem, arm raised and then put her arms around her as they shifted left and right, swayed this way and that. By this point Dem looked a bit more serious, moving to the music, deliciously drunk, turning hand to hand, swinging out and meeting back. Dem faced out with Caroline's hand in hers, Caroline's arm around her waist and then Dem rested her head on the thick pillow of her hairpiece at Caroline's shoulder and just swaying slowly with her back to Caroline's front, cheek to cheek and watching the lights bounce about the ceiling and feeling the beat of the music as they swayed in time to the song. Demelza could smell Caroline's perfume and feel her bring her other arm around her and felt a sort of calm come over her. Dem was in L.A. and the music was nice, the lights were nice, the people here danced incessantly, talked a mile a minute and knew how to have fun. She was merry, not drunk, she thought, in this dance. Slow. Fun, the fun of being good looking together, Caroline smiling, and just having a sort of embrace on the dancefloor in this slow dance, being a bright young thing in a new place and everything so wonderful... Everything is wonderful... Ross might dance with her later... He seemed to be talking alot when she looked for him, talking to people, maybe he's having a good time too... Dem would find Blue and they would dance. Jump about and dance and feel like a stars in a universe of other stars, _this is my real life_ , thought Dem, smiling... George was bored. The cachet of Warleggan Group's Casablanca Records deal had given him a bit of an opening. Not as much as he hoped. The other executives seemed jaded over Disco in general which surprised George. He thought there was enough steam left in the engine for that sort of dance music. He caught sight of Dem Poldark dancing with that side piece of Armitage's. Warner was getting her money's worth out of her. Adderley danced with her and now was watching her slack jawed from another part of the floor and irritating the girl he was meant to be dancing with. Between the purse he offered and Monk seemingly obsessed with her anyway, George had a hoped the guy would make good on his claim. Let Ross be the cuckhold for a change. Unless that drummer really was having it off with her... Malcolm might have blushed. Hugh said he should dance with Red saying, "Caroline has snatched her back from all these pretenders," gesturing to the men about the place. "They dance divinely, do they not?" Malcolm shook his head a little, bashful, shook himself free of a dirty thought. Hugh were the sort to tease. Red looked smashing and she was having a fun time. Hugh took the piss sometimes... Hugh laughed. Malcolm was not unaware of the leering suggestion that two women dancing was "hot" and was aware that Hugh was teasing, didn't mean it but liked planting the idea as another way of poking at Malcolm's attraction to Demelza. An attraction Hugh was intimately familiar with. Ross watched Dem stare off into space as she danced a scandal of a dance with Caroline. He watched her looking serene and enjoying herself then finish the dance in a sisterly laughter and romping off back to Malcolm. Hugh danced with Caroline in the ordinary way as partners but not holding each other. Dem went off with Malcolm, headlong into the dancing like two kids given free reign in an amusement park. Ross ordered another drink. Ordinarily he would nurse a drink through the night but so many people were offering him drugs and asking to try Dem like a lending library he was knocking them back apace as a restorative, to rinse the filth away. Ross had tossed aside the fig leaf of a mixed drink and was on neat brandy. And then had more.

Cold As Ice

Ross was drinking too much. He was angry and wished he had never come to this place. Their first days in Los Angeles, blissful and positive, playing in the hotel pool and making love like the old days had been lost. Now he was trapped in this hellhole. There were plenty of nice people, sensible people in Los Angeles but the people who kept trying to ingratiate themselves with him were the worst sort of people. Ross had been offered every drug under the sun, had people offering him money to sleep with Dem, offering money to sleep with him, suggesting they could swap wives, bragging that they could get the best smack in L.A., pressing in on him like vultures. Margaret Vosper kicked a hole in their happiness and kept showing up with that nasty look of satisfaction, rubbing his face in telling Dem and George about Sawle churchyard in the most over the top lurid way. Dem was gadding about with Caroline and Malcolm anyway. Hugh lurking around talking business. Ross began to feel had no business being here. He had half a mind to go back to the hotel but want to keep an eye on Dem. She was in her glory, dancing in next to nothing, in that daft glitter eye shadow with any man that looked at her twice, and with Caroline like... Ross disliked their dancing together; that it was provocative enough to turn Ross on made him angry with himself. He hadn't had multiple women at once in years. Years and years. Those were the truly old Resurgam days before he married Dem, before Dem was even a consideration as a love interest, a schoolgirl. Margaret still called Dem a schoolgirl... Neither he nor Dem would ever grow to some people. Never change. Stuck suspended in Cornish amber. He would always be a tearaway and she would always be a slag, to some people... Dem looked happy. Calm and happy. She can't have known what it looked like. Dem was simply dancing with her friend, not flirting in the least, in their slutty looking dresses. But that almost made it worse somehow, nonchalant. He did not like to think of Dem in that way, didn't want some of the pervs in here thinking of her that way. Demelza was simply enjoying herself but it was... They looked little better than whores dancing like that for their own entertainment but drawing the eyes of just about every man in the room. It seemed Dem and Caroline had made it their ambition to look as wanton as the locals. Dem had washed her hands of him, flounced off in her ridiculous outfit to gad about with Malcolm and Caroline as Hugh smoozed and fraternized with the parasites and predators of this town. More men had kept asking Ross if they could sleep with Dem. Now she and Malcolm danced with the vigor of kids these days in this disco craze. They were running about the place like it was their own toybox. Still big headed from so many English people telling them they did well on Whistle Test. They did perform well on that program, Ross knew that but it was ugly to see Dem puffed up with a pride tipping dangerously close to conceit. Darting here, dancing there. More compliments. They had a right to be proud but it was going to Dem's head. She was behaving in a loose, unmoored way, drinking and giggling and her friends aiding and abetting this bacchanal. And being observed by men who wanted her. Men who thought Ross would do a deal, be amiable. Why not? She has that boyfriend! "What?" asked Ross, straining to hear in the loud room, over the loud music. "I heard you cut her loose, she's with that Scottish kid!" Ross frowned. "Fuck off, it's not like that..." and the guy rolled his eyes and moved on. Ross squinted at his glass. Empty. When did he finish it? Another.

Demelza danced with Billy Joel. She danced with Philip Bailey of Earth, Wind And Fire, (and later shown in Variety dancing with Blue on one side and John Travolta on the other) She had speech with many label executives and other artists. Blue danced with Stevie Nicks. Red danced with Lindsey Buckingham and the night was still young. Red and Blue danced with each other in a happy sense of companionship, they always returned from this famous person, that good looking stranger and returned to Red. Returned to Blue. Together in the park with Garrick and the children. Together in a humble London rehearsal room no bigger than a sheep shed, Together in a new career, signed with Warner, with good gear, and money to spend and a manager who thought highly of them and tapped a magic wand over them both on a regular basis. Together on Top of the Pops. Together on Old Grey Whistle Test. Together in the center of everything in Los Angeles. Caroline and many of the ladies in attendance were fun company and treated Red and Blue like fast friends, dancing and drinking and hanging on every shouted over the music word with rapt attention. Hugh extricated himself from the corporate chit chat around him and strode to the center of the dance floor with a confidence so striking many of the Americans wondered who he was. He beckoned Demelza to the dance floor by crooking his finger and giving her a come hither smile and a saucy wink. They had been taking dance lessons because Hugh wanted her to do European television and he felt just miming the songs would not leave enough of an impression. Demelza skipped to meet Hugh at the center of the dance floor like a child on a playground, wending her way around other dancers who turned to follow her with their glance. They watched this young sprite, glittering gold, dress right up to _there_ , hair like a lions mane, eyes sparkling under dark blue make up glistening gold and prancing in gold heels with the ease of Converse sneakers. The lights shimmered their colour over Hugh's white suit and Dem's gold dress. Ross stood at the bar with another glass of brandy. He downed it feeling it run down his throat like a raw spirit, gone in a blink. He asked for another in the confusion of having thought he had a drink already. But it was done. Well. Ross secured another and leaned with his back to the bar. The lights were annoying. Hugh was on the dance floor with Dem trying to pretend himself Mick Jagger and Fred Astaire combined. The suave ballroom moves of Astaire with the pouty obnoxiousness of Jagger. The suggestion of sex, not in the forefront, coiled lying in wait, a sensual put on that Ross gave a snort of derision to see. Dem was his acolyte, his protege, grinning like a good girl who learned her lessons. Dem looked happy. Ross swirled his drink in an idle fidget, watching Dem and able to see the sort of happiness in her that bloomed like a rose. Demelza was often made happy by small things. She often shined at a party, enjoying meeting people, enjoying herself. She and Malcolm flit about at that party they met Hugh for the first time without knowing anyone but they talked and laughed and enjoyed themselves. She knew how to do that, thought Ross as he drank down his brandy and watched her in a sozzled confusion. Why? He'd seen it before, dozens of times before. So Ross told himself he should not read so much in her dance with Hugh and her eyes flashing with the enjoyment of it. Not find anything truly wrong. He was having trouble holding to that because they seemed determined to make an exhibition of themselves. The Donna Summer song from a few years back, Love To Love You Baby, was blaring and it was just the sort of mid tempo song that matched their ballroom steps. Many on the floor gave them room and admired them as Dem and Armitage's dance started becoming a bit suggestive and Malcolm and Caroline watched from a different part of the room calling out encouragement with a bunch of over painted ladies, hooting and clapping their approval, Malcolm braying, "REEEEEEEEEEED!" and Dem's smile actually widening as she was dipped by Hugh and she and Malcolm grinned at each other. Dem's face upside down, Malcolm hooting approval like watching a goal at a football match, just able to be heard in the noisy din of the venue and the ladies in the room slavering with interest as Caroline smiled satisfaction at this tawdry spectacle. Ross frowned at the interest of the men about the place. As if dancing with Caroline wasn't enough. Hugh danced Dem about like a pimp showing off the merchandise. Hugh dipped her slowly as the vocal gave an orgastic groan and they danced grinning into each other's eyes, effortlessly performing the steps they had been taught and looking flirty with each other. The disco raunchiness and the formality of their dancing was very on point. Dem's dress, hair and make up were proper stupid but up to the minute L.A. and they looked attractive together. Ross felt he was watching Dem through some sort of satanic fun house mirror. The sort of mirror that bends and distorts the reflections in alarming ways. The pretty sparkle eyed girl playing her floral inlay acoustic guitar was not this woman. And yet she was, and she was enjoying it. She was subsumed in this grotesque industry sickness, the belle of the ball with her henchman serving her up like a capon on a platter to these hideous people. The song ended and Hugh kissed her hand. Then Dem skipped off again into the waiting arms of all those half dressed women, laughing, laughing, laughing, lauding her as a sister in this hellsh place. Ross got another brandy. He downed the lot of it and watched Dem across the room downing a huge, ridiculous looking cocktail, all day glo colours and fruit sticking out in all directions, and people kept asking Ross, 'how much would it take?, How much do you want?, Do you do porn? I know a director that would bring out the best in both of you?, Do you want coke?, Howmuch?Howmuch?Howmuch?Howmuch?Howmuch?Howmuch?...' Ross watched Armitage's infanta in her glory. He glowered and stood about unsteady, staring at Dem pop a chunk of liquor soused pineapple from her drink into Malcolm's mouth as they laughed together and the women around them applauded like trained seals, shrieking and squealing. He had the unruly desire to knock their heads together. They were having the time of their lives as Ross was batting away all these disgusting people. That was his role, his job. No one made these proposals to Dem. They came to him as if he would do a deal, as if he was as grotesque and amoral as they were. The Grammy Awards seemed very far away. He could not wait to leave. He had another drink.

Love To Love You Baby

Hugh felt like a lion tamer whose pets were becoming unruly. Many more offers of quid pro quo for music executives to try Hansel and Gretel both were bandied about with a casualness that was astonishing. Hugh had to brazen it out. He had to decline without giving offense. He had to be pleasant but firm. He had to change the subject, be a player, not turn heel and leave, not look like a prude or a lightweight who was too ignorant to understand what he was turning down in his refusal. Build a bridge for later negotiating in a cleaner context. Not burn bridges. L.A. was where it was happening. As a creature of Europe and used to the East Coast as a part time resident he had to tread a fine line. He could not close himself off from this place, it was a nexus of power that they would need sooner or later. It was draining. New York was a nuts and bolts sort of situation, a smaller scale and very much focused on proper work, numbers, results, building an act and nurturing talent, not every man in the winner's circle and his brother hell bent on trying to get into the artist's knickers. That it remained talk, and bandied about by the executive class among themselves was a relief. That the sense of privilege and bald expectation in these people was so plainly discussed was shocking to Hugh but that also meant no one was harassing Hansel and Gretel. These people saw Hugh as the gatekeeper and Hugh made it clear that the gate would remain closed. Hugh watched Malcolm and Demelza having a good time, receiving compliments on the Whistle Test performance, feeling happy. It made Hugh proud of their trio, happy for their sake. They deserved it. Caroline broke Dem free of the different men she had been dancing with and had Hansel and Gretel safely stowed with the women tonight. That was better. Malcolm and Demelza had a fun night and the last thing Hugh wanted was their fun ruined by an indecent proposal. They would finish out the night with the socialites and be whisked back to the hotel. Safe and sound. Hugh decided to give himself a happy reprieve of his own. The music was pumping and he had been taking lessons. Malcolm and Demelza danced side by side in the party style, loyal friends. Caroline had danced a mischief with Demelza, cheek to cheek and tongue in cheek, teasing all the men in the room with the sight of two women dancing. She drew Demelza away from the men Hugh considered inferior and deftly placed his fairy back with Malcolm, where Hugh thought Demelza belonged. Proud and happy and together. Hugh would have a turn as Demelza's dance partner too. A last flourish and a way to show off how well Demelza had learnt her steps. They were here to see and be seen. It was the reason they were on this junket in the first place. Donna Summer had come on. It was a popular hit and the correct tempo for their steps. Perfect. That Hugh beckoned her with a devilish wink and a 'come hither' crook of the finger was simply lightheartedness. That he let his hand draw across her arm was simply the choreography they'd learned. That they smiled into each other's eyes unthinkingly as Miss Summer's voice cooed, "do it to me again and again..." may have escaped Hugh's notice. That they slowed the barest bit as the song devolved into pleasurable moaning, dipping her backwards as she pointed her toe and arched -as she'd been taught, mind- that crackle of sexual energy was solely the song around them, surely.

Dem was excited and joyous tonight. So many English people congratulated her and Blue for their Whistle Test performance, so many Americans fawned over her dress. "Outrageous!" "Incredible!" "Dynamite!" All in that strange, flat accent, different to New York, though there were New Yorkers here too. She and Blue were walking on air. They danced with loads of people and many of them proper famous people, but they stayed near each other on the floor and turned to partner again like a series of victory dances. She danced with John Travolta! He danced with Crystal Gayle! You would think she and Blue were up for a Grammy rather that just spectators at the awards night. To have so much fun and attention given them in a new place felt marvelous.They were the toast of the party and all a proper rock star could dream of seemed laid at their feet. They had the respect of these people and could even dare to believe they were their peers, proper stars too. Caroline was an effervescent party girl and she started dancing with Dem in a fun turnabout, dancing like the girls used to in the school lunchroom at Hempel. With no boys to dance with, one girl had to take the lead like a boy and danced like the kids on the music programs. It was how they practiced with no boys to dance with. She and Caroline had fun dancing disco and Dem reached a sort of nirvana as Caroline hugged her in a slow shuffle to the music, as Dem stared at the ceiling of this palatial hall instead of Hempel common. Dem felt rewarded for all those lonely days playing guitar. All those days with girls like Ruth Teague whispering loud enough for her to hear, or writing in her school books, calling her a slag. No girls came to call at Nampara. The parents wouldn't allow it. Dem tried not to care. She had Garrick and Ross taught guitar. Mrs. Kemp taught her piano. Sometimes Dem wished to be "normal", with friends and fun like the other girls. But all those lonely days had made her a good musician and now she was in Los Angeles where other women were friendly and wanted to know her. Dem was living those Nampara wishes now, in Technicolor, being a girl among girls and just like any other but better because here Dem was not just a timid schoolgirl at the margins of things. She spent time with Diana Ross! She talked with women who were fashionable and approved of her style too. She was dancing with a friend in their matching outfits like a _star_. Dem had fallen in with many of the L.A. women. They were friendly and glamorous and laughed and even seemed to like her. Demelza felt like she could be an L.A. woman. Dem tried to catch Ross' attention sometimes but when she looked to him he was often talking to people. That was encouraging. He was at the bar and chatting with various men. Maybe Los Angeles would be a boon for both of them. Maybe he would make connections here. Hugh said as much before they left. Dem felt warmth towards Hugh. For suggesting the trip, for helping her and Blue, for being so wonderful... She turned to see him on the edge of the dancefloor as the song happened to change to Donna Summer. Hugh's smirk widened. He walked to the very middle of the floor and turned to face her. He looked her in the eye as he beckoned her to dance and she felt so lighthearted over it all, this wondrous night, she skipped towards him and all the American girls went "Oooooooooooooh!" Hugh struck the first position and she twirled into his arms into second, ready to show all of the Los Angeles music industry what they could do. She heard Blue cheering, could hear it even as the music was loud and she grinned at him from the dance, dipped backwards, she saw Blue upside down and he laughed and hooted his approval of his band mates. They were a trio. They were a force to be reckoned with. And Hugh danced divinely. Dem did her best to dance well and not look like she was showing off. She wanted Hugh to see she had learned everything he'd taught her so far. Wanted him to know she was grateful. They danced and at a certain point the room around her seemed to fade. Hugh partnered her in a gallant manner, as he so often did in all his interactions with her. A pause between them as he dipped her, a spark between them. "Je t’aime," whispered Hugh. A whisper searing her ear, the warmth of his breath and the heat of his declaration, _I love you_... And then, just like that, the lights and noise from the room, the people around them returned and the dance had finished with many around them applauding. Hugh kissed her hand and led her off the floor. She floated back into the waiting arms of all the women, and Caroline, and Blue, all lauding her for her dancing and providing her a drink that looked like a fruit salad to quench her thirst. Demelza wondered what would be enough to quench her thirst. If this was what it felt like to be a star, she could drink it by the caseful and not be sated. Tonight was wonderful.

"They fell in love!"

Ross rolled his eyes, leaving the elevator. The Americans around them kept egging Malcolm and Dem on to sing "Copacabana" for they found their Scottish and Cornish accents, that much worse for drink, quite comical. Now, even though they finally shed all the ridiculous women at the party they were still yowling the damned song like a couple of alley cats as they went up in the elevator and through the hall. As they approached Malcolm's room Caroline chuckled, "Hugh! Where on earth did you find these drunk children?" Hugh's smirk widened as he joked in a cool, nonchalance. "Ha! Someone left them in a box at the end of my garden..." Dem staggering alongside Blue in the crook of his arm and a haze of liquor and laughter and hugged him tighter, wavering as they reached his door. A hug goodnight in a night of fun. A squeeze of a hug as Malcolm let go of Red. "What a knees up!" sighed Blue, happily, as they shared a fond look and content for all they were well and truly drunk. Two musicians in a tatty rehearsal room no more. Red and Blue were proper rockers. They shared a sozzled look of mutual satisfaction. They were proper rockers and best friends and had a grand time at the party. Hugh and Caroline laughed over Hugh's quip in the throaty sort of upper class way Liza often did and Ross ground his teeth in irritation as he kept on to their room, erect and with purpose. One might not have suspected Ross to be drunk to see him stalk forward down the hall to his door looking secure in his movements. Ross was fed up with everything here and sick of them all. The grotesque executives and power brokers and their greedy, amoral suggestions, Hugh and Caroline turning Dem into a slutty cartoon, Malcolm unthinkingly lapping up all this show biz smoke and mirrors. The pair of them cackling like hyenas all night, gleeful to have Armitage unleash them to scamper about in a poisoned gingerbread house of vanity and excess. They left Malcolm at his room and Dem smeared eye make up on his shirt as they hugged good night. They were laughing at that too. "Night Red, night Ross!" slurred Blue as he disappeared into his room. Caroline advised Dem, in a somewhat motherly manner, "You must drink water, Dem! You must have a full glass of water, alcohol is very dehydrating!" Dem giggled, "I will! Good night!" "Goodnight, my dear, you were a triumph! Goodnight, Ross." said Caroline. "Goodnight, ma fée, goodnight, Ross." said Hugh. Caroline and Hugh went into their rooms as Dem, still giggling, trotted behind Ross who was unlocking their hotel room door, extremely cross and had too much to drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John I'm Only Dancing, David Bowie 1976
> 
> Well, Annie's pretty neat  
> She always eats her meat  
> And Joe is awful strong  
> Bet your life he's puttin' us on  
> Oh, lordy  
> Oh, lordy  
> You know I need some lovin'  
> I'm movin'  
> Touch me
> 
> John, I'm only dancing  
> She turns me on  
> But I'm only dancing  
> She turns me on  
> But don't get me wrong  
> I'm only dancing
> 
> Oh, shadow love was quick and lean  
> Life's a well-thumbed machine  
> I saw you watchin' from the stairs  
> You're everyone that ever cared  
> Oh, lordy  
> Oh, lordy  
> You know I need some lovin'  
> I'm movin'  
> Touch me
> 
> John, I'm only dancing  
> She turns me on  
> But I'm only dancing  
> She turns me on  
> But don't get me wrong  
> I'm only dancing
> 
> John, I'm only dancing  
> She turns me on  
> But I'm only dancing  
> She turns me on  
> But don't get me wrong  
> I'm only dancing
> 
> Dancing  
> Won't someone touch me
> 
> Touch me
> 
> Ooh
> 
> Kick It Out, Heart 1977
> 
> Out of the street, get on home  
> Tail shaking filly running on her own  
> They say she got loose on the night  
> She was born  
> Cranking it up in a school zone
> 
> "Kick it out, kick it out", she said  
> "kick out your motor and drive  
> While you're still alive, kick it out!"
> 
> Sitting in a bar in a seaside town  
> Sweet little love getting high getting down  
> Sailors see her running along the beach  
> Laugh and jump out of reach
> 
> Wild music blowing in her mane  
> She needs a bareback rider won't give her  
> No pain  
> A hard racy game of give and take  
> Leaves them dazed, half crazed, in her wake
> 
> "Kick it out, kick it out", she said  
> "kick out your motor and drive  
> While you're still alive, kick it out!"
> 
> Cold As Ice, Foreigner 1977
> 
> You're as cold as ice  
> You're willing to sacrifice our love
> 
> You never take advice  
> Someday you'll pay the price, I know
> 
> I've seen it before  
> It happens all the time  
> You're closing the door  
> You leave the world behind  
> You're digging for gold  
> Yet throwing away  
> A fortune in feelings  
> But someday you'll pay
> 
> You're as cold as ice  
> You're willing to sacrifice our love
> 
> You want paradise  
> But someday you'll pay the price, I know
> 
> I've seen it before  
> It happens all the time  
> You're closing the door  
> You leave the world behind  
> You're digging for gold  
> Yet throwing away  
> A fortune in feelings  
> But someday you'll pay
> 
> Cold as ice, you know that you are  
> Cold, cold, as, as, ice, as cold as ice to me  
> Cold, cold, as, as, ice
> 
> Ooh, ooh, ooh, cold as, cold as ice  
> You're as cold as ice  
> You're as cold as ice, cold as ice, I know
> 
> Love To Love You Baby, Donna Summer 1975
> 
> I love to love you baby x5
> 
> When you're laying so close to me  
> There's no place I'd rather you be  
> Than with me here
> 
> I love to love you baby x3
> 
> Do it to me again and again  
> You put me in such an awful spin, in a spin
> 
> I love to love you baby x3
> 
> Lay your head down real close to me  
> Soothe my mind and set me free, set me free
> 
> I love to love you baby x6
> 
> When you're laying so close to me  
> There's no place I'd rather you be  
> Than with me here
> 
> I love to love you baby x3
> 
> Do it to me again and again  
> You put me in such an awful spin, in a spin
> 
> I love to love you baby x6
> 
> décolletage: a woman's cleavage as revealed by a low neckline.
> 
> naïfs: a naive or inexperienced person
> 
> neat brandy: unadulterated, straight


	11. Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And while she tried to be a star  
> Tony always tended bar

Ross, once again, knocked over the extra door brace as he entered the room and, rather than set it back upright, kicked at it with his foot in annoyance. It skittered a few feet further along the floor and lay forlorn on the carpet. Dem dragged herself in. Ross disliked drunkenness in women. Dem had drunk too much tonight on top of all of this foolishness. Drunk! On alcohol, on flattery. Caroline and Armitage dancing with Dem like a madame and a pimp! Ross gave a snort. Dem was being fattened up for the ghouls of this town to toss in their cooking pot. She couldn't see that. Everyone it seemed was enchanted with Demelza Poldark, everyone threw roses at Red and Blue's feet as they chortled and brayed that stupid Copacabana song and ran about the place like two kids bunking off school. Dem fed Malcolm fruit from her silly looking drink like he was a pet coaxed to dance on its hind legs and all to applause from those other drunk girls. Those men had plagued him all night, not her. Didn't they know they were playing with fire? Dandling her in front of all those greedy bastards like a shiny toy, in that stupid dress, that stupid make up? They did not speak on the way back to the hotel. Dem was annoyed that Ross had been drinking. Ross was annoyed that Dem had been drinking and cavorting about in her ridiculous dress and lurid cosmetics. Ross tossed the room key on to the dresser and Dem watched the reflection beyond it, the long huge mirror that went along the entire width of the dresser on the wall up to the ceiling. She smeared her eye makeup when she hugged Blue goodnight but she still looked so fashionable and glamorous. Everybody said so. Elizabeth didn't look as good tonight. Elizabeth looked dowdy. She didn't even stay for the dancing but she was pregnant again, maybe she was tired. Dem felt a shadow cross over her thoughts. Valentine... She shook it off. Where was she? Oh yes. Dem lifted her chin in satisfaction as she continued to admire herself. 'I'm a star...' she thought. Ross' eyes narrowed as he watched Dem's self satisfied preening. She loved all that horrible makeup. Made up like a clown. He told her so. Starting to waver in his place as he stood. He had to urinate, his bladder was fit to burst. "You look like a fucking circus clown in all that slap!" he slurred. She giggled, dreaming. She closed her eyes with a prideful tilt higher of her chin, nose in the air. "I look like a star!" slurred Dem. Dem's pronunciations were little better than Ross'. She sniffed haughtily. 'Ross can't make me feel bad,' she thought. 'I had a marvelous time!' She struggled to look Ross in the eye, tried to aim her sight at his. "Just because you're too much of a grump to enjoy yourself doesn't mean I can't!" Ross wasn't listening. He turned to go to the bathroom. Dem started taking off her bracelets. Ross returned and sat on the bed. Dem was still prattling. "Hugh said Warner is really happy with us!" Dem looked proud and it served to annoy Ross more. "Well, isn't that lovely...?" said Ross sarcastically as he removed his shoes. "I expect your label would have been overjoyed to watch you jiggle your wares to all comers, dancing with any man that looked at you twice!" Dem turned from the mirror to face him. She looked Ross up and down. Trying to look like he was sober enough not to fight with his dress socks and failing. He pulled them off and one flung forward by the door brace, one dropped nearby. Standing to remove his trousers looked beyond him. He looked ready to want to sleep. ' _Who's fault is that?' she thought. 'Where were you? Why weren't you dancing with me? Oh, that's right, you were at the bar all night_...' Dem grumbled, "My husband was too busy availin' himself of liquor to dance with me! I danced with Blue and Caroline and..." Ross suddenly remembered he was offended by that. "What got in to you?! How could you dance with her like that?!" Ross asked tersely. "Like what?" asked Dem. "Carrying on like lesbians!" Dem started laughing. Ross stared at her. Dem drunk in her wretched outfit and make up laughing at him. "Do you even know what it looked like? Dancing with her like that?!" said Ross offended. Dem rolled her eyes. "Caroline went to girl's school too! We were dancing!" Ross knit his brows. What does that mean? "What do you mean 'went to girl's school too'?" asked Ross, confused and not helped by being that much worse for drink. Dem put a handful of bracelets on the dresser and struggled to pull more over her hand to take off more. "Everyone danced like that at Hempel! There weren't any boys! One girl had to be the boy!" Dem explained this reasoning like it was an obvious fact. Ross stared at her with a dopey, drunken confusion, considering bunches of schoolgirls dancing like sluts on a regular basis. Dem giggled. Ross looked cute when he was confused, drunk or no. Ross could not see the humor in this. "You should think about what your doing! It looked..." Dem huffed annoyance. "Its nothing to do with me what people think! I had fun! I'm not a lesbian! If other people have dirty minds that's their problem! Besides, we only danced that way just the once! I danced with Blue and Hugh and plenty of nice L.A. blokes!" Ross rolled his eyes. Blokes. Malcolm's vocabulary coming out of Dem's mouth. He dragged out the tie from around his collar and threw it on the floor, looking at her sternly. "And I'll have you know that at least four of those 'nice L.A. blokes' offered me upwards of three thousand dollars to have me hand you over like a piece of candy and let them fuck you." said Ross dryly. Dem straightened in surprise as much as one could do so drunk and stared at him. "What!" she squeaked. Ross glowered "Yeah. You've made quite an impression in this cesspool you've dragged us to!" Dem slurred her words. "Me? You told me you would come to L.A.! That you would come to America with me!" Ross laughed. "Too right, I came with you! I'm glad I did! I'd have not believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes! Someone has to look after you! I should think Armitage is too busy counting up the cost books to care about all the executives wanting to put their heads up your skirt!" Dem frowned, looked down her nose at him. "And you're really looking after me, Ross, by drinking yourself silly! Look at yourself! You're drunk!" Ross lay back on this bed. It was huge and soft and now that his bladder was empty he could sink into this soft bed and close his eyes and drop off into that sweet sort of sleep when the liquor guides you by the hand and tucks you into oblivion like a loving mother. He could do that, if he didn't have Dem standing over him with her drunken yammering. Drunk?! Pot, kettle! He could feel the room swaying, feel his head loose on his neck as he turned to look at her along the mattress. He closed his eyes. "Oh shut up, Dem!" said Ross in a tired sort of way. "You're as drunk as I am..." He opened them again. He was saying...? Oh. Yes. Armitage. "Hugh dandled you about like a pimp!" hissed Ross. "He did not!" groused Dem. She went to the sideboard that held liquor and poured herself a nightcap. Port in a sherry glass, like a miniature wine glass.That she had already drunk too much did not impress her as a reason to skip her customary glass of port. And besides, she'd have a glass of water like Caroline said to. Later. She took a shaky sip from the glass for her movements were not steady. She still teetered about in her glitter high heeled shoes. "We danced like we learned to in class!" she harrumphed. "I danced with him! In a room full of people we danced! Where's the harm in that?!" Ross seemed not to hear her. "Dancing you about like a pimp! And you and Malcolm laughing like hyenas!" Dem drank down her glass and glared at him. "You're jealous!" Ross thought she meant he was jealous of Hugh. Was he jealous of Hugh? Ross pondered that as he said, "I'm not!" He struggled to sit back up. She looked at him, haughtily, poured herself another glass of port. "Yes you are! You're jealous because we're doing so well! You never played Whistle Test!" Dem was drunk enough to let slip a private happiness out loud. Ross and Dem had both played Top of the Pops but Resurgam never played The Old Grey Whistle Test. Ross went still. Dem wasn't talking about Armitage at all. She had been saying he was jealous of her career and threw Whistle Test in his face like a drunken, bratty little minx... Ross had little interest in that program for all she did well on it, for all she and Malcolm seemed to idolize it. Ross started laughing. Dem became angry. Ross fell back on the bed again. He seemed like a fly caught in a spider's web or a bug that had a wing pinned down, lying on the bed in hysterics but too drunk to just lay still. Trying to get up but not succeeding, flapping about laughing, but not having the coordination. He laughed like a drain. Ross lay back on the bed cracking up. Dem started to glower at him. He tried to speak but he had to take two attempts. He found Dem's outburst hysterical. He found her hysterical in her smeared make up and foolish outfit, teetering in her daft shoes, standing like a toddler trying on her mother's shoes, all hail the queen! The Queen of the Whistle Test. "Oh, forgive me! I didn't realize Whistle Test was so important!" he snickered. Dem narrowed her eyes. "I had fun tonight!" she yelled and poured another port. Ross frowned from his vantage point at the mattress. Dem was drunk. "Are you going to take to the bottle seriously?" slurred Ross. "If so I shall throw you out!" Dem started giggling, waggling the glass at him, teasing him with it. "Don't drink that," said Ross, angrily, stilted, sitting up on the bed again. "You... had... enough..." slurred Ross. Dem started giggling. Ross was too drunk to reprimand her for drinking properly. "You're... telling... me _I_ had too much?!" Dem turned to face him, holding her glass and angry. Ross frowned. "It's ugly! You were ugly tonight! Drunk women...It tur, turns up my stomach! You were going around all night like dressed like a slag! Dancing like a whore all night and you're drunk!" said Ross in a laundry list of tonight's grievances. Dem yelled "I had fun! Everyone said I looked beautiful!" Ross narrowed his eyes and said, "You. Looked. Like. A. Slag." Dem paled but she was defiant. "You're detestable saying that! Sitting there, drunk insensible, telling me I can't drink! I can drink what I like when I like! And I don't look like a slag!" She downed the port, poured another and turned to him in a bizarre caricature of herself. Her smile had an animalistic grimace to it. She radiated a perverse, prideful happiness. Her drunkeness. Dem had become a sort of gorgon, an over painted creature with giant hair, a monster. She laughed and took a wobbly twirl, sloshing port over her fingers as the glass tipped a little. She gave a drunken star turn, her make up smeared, blots of port falling on the carpet, teetering on her gold heels. She drew herself taller as she still looked unsteady on her feet. "I don't look like a slag and I like my dress, so there!" And she stuck out her tongue at him and laughed again for she was pleased with herself. Strangely, after feeling offended by Dem's attitude throughout this night, Ross had been grumpy, disapproving, and even angry but he did not become livid until Dem stuck out her tongue like a bratty child. It served to remind him that somewhere inside this horrible, drunk woman in front of him was his West County girl. An unruly, hideous anger welled up in him as he sat on the bed in the middle of this ridiculous industry town watching his wife dive head first into all this negativity and enjoy it. Too quickly for Dem to react, Ross leaned forward from the bed, picked up the door brace, stood and rapped her sharply across the knuckles with it, so that the glass broke and spilled its contents down the disputed frock. For a moment she looked more surprised than hurt, then she put her knuckles into her mouth. The mature and defiant pop star became a desolate and unfairly rebuked child. She stared down at the dress where the port was soaking through the skirt, rolling in thin streaks down her legs. Tears came into her eyes, beading upon her lashes til she blinked them away, beading again and trembling at the rim without falling. They stood unsteady on their feet, staring at each other, drunk, horrified. The anger and grievance they'd slung at each other evaporated. In all their years together, as her guardian, as her husband, Ross had never raised a hand to her. They froze as they tried to outthink what had just occurred.

' _It was the dress..._ ' Thought Dem.

' _It was the dress..._ ' Thought Ross.

' _It was the drink in me not her..._ ' Thought Ross.

' _I was drunk, he wanted to stop me drinking more..._ ' Thought Dem.

' _I was angry_...' Thought Ross.

' _I upset him...'_ Thought Dem.

 _'I didn't mean it_...' Thought Ross.

' _He didn't mean it..._ ' Thought Dem.

' _I hit her.._.' Thought Ross.

' _My dress, my princess dress..._ ' Thought Dem.

Dem started to cry. Ross took a wobbly step forward. "I shouldn't have done that... I, I didn't mean..." Ross was scrambling within his brain for an apology that would make sense for something so unforgivable. Dem put her hands over her face and wept. Ross had never hit her before. She was shocked enough she couldn't form her thoughts properly. She lamented her dress. "You... You shouldn't have spoiled the dress! It wa, was th, that p, pr, pretty!" Ross dropped the door brace and it fell to the floor with a thud as he put his arms around her. They were too drunk to stand properly and fell back against the dresser. Dem's clumsy halt at the dresser's edge knocked some of the bracelets to the floor which had their fall dampened by the carpet in a dull metallic ping. Ross tried to make Dem remove her hands from her face. He saw a smear of red and feared her fingers were cut but he soon saw it was lipstick left there when she put her knuckles to her mouth. Dem was rigid and kept her face covered even as Ross was trying to make her look at him. He was holding her wrists but she shook her head violently as she resisted the attempt, clamped for over her face. "Dem!" said Ross, begging in an anguished plea. "Dem! I didn't mean it! I swear it! Dem! Look at me!" She let Ross hold her wrists away from her face. Her mascara had run in blackened streaks running down her cheeks and they both had glitter on their fingers from the eye shadow. She sniffled and whimpered as Ross started to kiss her face. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry Dem!" she smelled brandy on his breath and felt the nearness of his face by hers. He pulled his head back to look her full in the face. I didn't mean it! I swear! It... It's been a hellish night! I'm not myself!" Dem looked at him and in that moment a thought formed between them. If they had sex, if it was a quirk of passion, if it was a fit of lust, then perhaps Ross hadn't hit her, perhaps Dem wasn't a bratty show off. Perhaps the guilt they both felt weighing them down knowing they'd slept with other people, knowing jealousy was hovering over them in nebulous, insidious ways, could be secretly absolved. She reached for him. Opened his trouser front and grabbed at him. His response was instantaneous. They resolved to try the one glue that held in the ups and downs of their life together. He began to kiss her mouth her thigh was sticky with port as he pulled her panties off, as she dragged his pants further down, as they chose to pretend a passion that was not natural. A strange pantomime to paper over the cracks. They played their parts. She leaned back against the mirror behind her and he pressed his lips to her neck. The soft fog of her breath marked the mirror as she groaned and they kissed in a sort of desperation. They were poor actors. She started to moan as Ross went faster. They could hear the dresser beneath them creaking and the strange repetitive squeak of the dress' material at her back against the mirror. Ross stuttered his hips as he came and then stilled. Her forehead on his shoulder near the glass, the heat from their breath fogging the mirror. The cold chill of it evaporating, leaving a clear and pitiless reflection of each other in the glass. The unhappiness in them, the pall over them both. Loggy from drink they lifted their heads. Dem turned to look at herself in the reflection. She sat up and felt his semen run back out. He slipped free of her and felt cold air, cold against his groin, limp, warmth faded as he felt it soak into the fabric of his trousers and turn cold. He held her hips and looked in the mirror. Dem's make up had smeared over both of them. Ross had mascara streaks and lipstick and glitter from the eyeshadow on his face, in his hairline, port stained his shirt. They both felt sticky from it where it was drying upon them. Her breasts were splattered with it from the glass breaking. They were panting and utterly miserable. The mirror showed two drunk people pretending all their bitter words could be absolved by a quickie that held no warmth and provided no true solution. Even sex had failed them. They looked in the mirror. He was Ross and she was Dem but they found it difficult to recognize themselves and each other.

Dem sat up and Ross released her, she staggered into the bathroom pulling the fall out of her hair in a painful tug of pins trying to remain where they were placed. Ross sat on the dresser with his back to the mirror, unkempt with no attempt to right his clothes, staring at the door brace and the broken glass, port splattered like blood on the carpet. The shower could be heard. Ross sat slumped on the dresser and listened to Dem as she yelped small hiccups of despair as she washed herself and dried herself and came back into the room to dress. Ross teetered onto his feet and went to have his own shower. When he came out, she was gone.

Hugh heard a knock at the door and crossed the room to open it. He had showered and changed into pajamas but his paisley dressing gown and velvet slippers were not so déshabillé he couldn't be seen by casual onlookers should they be in the hallway. Through the glass peep hole her saw Demelza, faced turned towards the direction of her room. He opened the door. "Demel..." He watched her as she turned to face him. She had the blotchy redness at her eyes from crying. Hugh had a sudden fear that she ran afoul of some of the men who had been angling to "try" her. Not content with bargaining with the manager and being told no. "Ma fée!" whispered Hugh, "Come in!" She brushed past him with a sniffle and he closed the door. "What has happened?! Have you been hurt? Has someone upset you?!" She rolled her lips into a thin line, blinking at him in a sort of misery. Hugh knit his brows. "Sit, sit down..." he directed her to sit at the head of the bed and went to the water carafe to pour some for her. "What has happened?" Demelza took a breath and said, "I drank too much tonight, Hugh... Ross was cross, I was cross..." Demelza was not looking, she spoke at her lap not seeing Hugh's look of surprise that the culprit was her husband. "We were arguing. I..." she would not go into more detail. She looked up at him. "I'm that sad, Hugh. Can I sit here a while?" Hugh frowned. "Yes, do you want to stay? Stay until morning?" Hugh was not enthusiastic to have that happen, have Demelza emerge from his room in the morning. The implications should she be seen might be difficult to quash. But if she had wanted Caroline or Malcolm surely she would have gone to them from the first. To his relief she shook her head 'no'. "I," she sniffed wetly. "I will return to my room I, I just need space apart. For a little while..." Hugh nodded. "Drink this, ma fée." He handed her a glass of water. "Thank you," said Demelza, looking up at him with a fragile smile of gratitude. She took the glass and began to drink. Hugh watched her carefully. Her bare toes poked out beneath the hem of a long gauzy skirt, her tee shirt was clearly one of Ross'. She was head to toe in black, young looking and pretty. Hugh imagined her as a fairy in mourning or a student in a witchcraft primary school. Her red hair, wavy at her shoulders, still holding moisture from the shower and tear rinsed eyes, her hand... Hugh looked at Demelza's hand round the glass. Her knuckles were discolored. A brusing across some of them. One more bluish than the others. "What happened to your hand?" Dem's eyes widened. Hugh's eyes narrowed. "You had a row?" asked Hugh. Her eyes widened. She held the glass in her other hand and looked at her the knuckles on her right hand. Her middle finger had taken the brunt of the door brace. It was a darkening blue where the knuckles on either side were red. She looked back up at him and fell, easily, into the sort of obfuscation her mother often used. "I must have banged it against the dresser..." Hugh stood straighter, looked at her carefully. Looked at what he could see. No bruises on her arms. Her face cleansed of cosmetics but no marks there or her neck. "Did Ross hurt you?" asked Hugh. Demelza seemed to bristle in an embarrassment shot with surprise. Hugh's eyes had narrowed as he asked if Ross had hurt her. He looked ready to believe Ross had hurt her. She shook her head 'no' with wide eyes. "No, Hugh..." Demelza had a sudden sadness. She thought of Blue, smiling at her in the car, coming back from the restaurant the other night, happy because she had been happy. Ross had kissed her forehead and Malcolm was happy for her. Happy for them. Glad for Dem that her marriage had mended to some degree. She had joked with Blue, made drollery of having to sit at a table with Elizabeth and Maggie but Dem had not told Blue or Hugh of Maggie Vosper's taunt at the cocktail evening. She did not tell them of Ross recent sins even as they performed along side her in her misery on Old Grey Whistle Test. She did not want them to think ill of Ross. She wanted to avoid giving them reasons for disapproval of her husband. She wanted to reset things and stand by Ross. "Don't tell Blue! Please!" said Dem. "Just let me sit a while, please!" Hugh had a sour look, princely in his dark patterned robe and velvet shoes. She looked at him, lips quivering. She did not dare explain more, it was clear Hugh did not believe her. She would not tell. There was no way to explain it that wouldn't make Ross sound more horrible than he was. Ross wasn't like Pa... Dem had goded him, they were arguing, it wasn't like _that_... Hugh frowned. That he be requested not to tell Malcolm was suspicious. Malcolm had a working man's sense of chivalry, working class attitudes of right and wrong that were often stark. Her quick defense of Ross was transparently false. If Hugh disbelieved her so easily it was not such a hardship. If Demelza was keeping a bright line between Malcolm and her husband... Hugh believed Malcolm's suspicion would not be turned aside so easily. He would press her for proper answers as a friend, as a protector. Demelza had the sudden sense of self preservation to ask that her close friend, a man who adored her, not be told she had some sort of episode with her husband. She knew Malcolm would disapprove, make Ross face his responsibility for what ever happened to her hand. Demelza's husband injured her in anger. Hugh would stake his head on it. She could risk her manager's speculation but not "Blue", not her close friend who lavished divine love upon her only a few months prior. Hansel would smoke out Gretel's truth... Hugh was offended on the drummer's behalf. Why cling to Ross? She fled her room in tears. Why cling to a brute when she could have a man like Malcolm who would treat her properly?! Hugh nodded. "Not to worry. I shall not discuss it with anyone. I promise. Finish drinking that..." Dem could hear an annoyance in Hugh's voice as he promised. She could hear he was willing to do that for her in an attitude of disapproval, even as he was forthright in his pledge. He walked to the head of the bed and turned down the covers. Demelza finished the water and set the glass on the floor. Hugh forced himself to smile. "Lay down, ma fée. You may rest an hour and I shall escort you back to your room." She nodded. In truth, the fact that Hugh didn't smirk was proof of his discomfort in this situation. Dem had learned to trust Hugh's smirking as a sign things were "correct", his default. His attempt at feigning an unruffled demeanor proved him to be trying too hard. He did not believe her. She resolved to stand by the tale. The bracelets, all those pretty bangles, stuck and she freed her hand of them, tugging too hard. She banged her knuckles on the dresser. An accident... "Thank you, Hugh." She stood and her skirt brushed against Hugh as she climbed into bed. She turned on her side, drawing the extra volume of her skirt in with her and Hugh brought the covers over her. She looked up at him with a fragile smile as he turned away and retrieved the empty glass. He stood at the head of the bed, turning it in his hands. He came to put it on the bedside table and sat at her back, at the head of the bed. She had been tucked in, curled under the covers and her bright hair at his pillow. Dem felt Hugh sit near her. The mattress sinking a bit behind her. She could hear him settle himself, cross his long legs and his feet still in his velvet slippers. Hugh brought his arms behind his head, looked up at the ceiling but he ceased to see it. He saw the full moon beyond dark, dense trees. He saw a boy and a girl wandering in the wood, a path of pebbles glowing at the ground. He saw the full moon over the towering skyscrapers of New York City. He saw a man and woman, dressed for best and dancing alongside Central Park South to music only they could hear. "Rest now, ma fée." said Hugh quietly. "I shall tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a poor wood cutter who lived at the edge of the wild wood..."

Hugh stood and came around the other side to look at her. He sighed. A night of triumph. A night of glamour and excitement. She should have returned to her room in the glory of a successful night. Ross Poldark was a scoundrel! His wife had a night of fun and frolicking, stardom. She had been a star tonight. Demelza and Malcolm kept safe, Caroline, keeping them among the wives and girlfriends. Keeping them free of taint. Hansel and Gretel enjoyed themselves tonight and had no interaction with the disgusting executives Hugh had wrangled all night. They enjoyed themselves! So they got in their cups? So what. Poldark didn't stint his drinking! Hugh could certainly think of many other things one could chose to do with a pretty wife in a giggling drunkenness than row with her! She and Malcolm were so happy by the end they were singing like two pals staggering back up the street from the local. Hugh sighed. Wouldn't it have been nicer to sing, and tumble into bed with Malcolm. Sleep it off with someone who would have held her and kissed her and kept that celebratory mood? Sleep it off or not. Malcolm was certainly able to partake of enthusiastic fucking when it suited him. Malcolm wouldn't have started an argument. Hansel wouldn't've been responsible for the deer in the headlights look of fear in Gretel's eyes when she realized Ross left a mark on her. Banged on the dresser indeed! He stood over her. The roundness of her cheek, her face in repose at the snuggled edge of the blankets. His fairy... His goddess. He turned away then. Remembrance of the Plaza was often a secret happiness but it was troubling Hugh tonight. It was the acme of futility to regret a pleasure that was past and Hugh had no intention of doing so, but... Hugh went to the balcony watching the car lights, the palm trees swaying the fronds of their leaves at the towering heights of their slender trunks. He sighed. This pretty place was where the music industry had agreed to plant itself in America. Hugh knew vices and bad behaviour existed in New York, in Paris, in London. He'd fended off indecent proposals for some of his ladies in France, from time to time. Los Angeles was an eye opening experience. The vices were prized possessions here, front and center here, not hidden. Not kept in their place like other cities Hugh knew. Perhaps it was not having royalty in America... If money and prestige were the coin of the realm rather than an ordered hierarchy then anything thing at all is fair game... But even in New York there was an organized, agreed upon sense of keeping the different levels in their agreed upon place. Whores were different than escorts, drugs were a slight of hand privacy, flashed in the correct situations. Hugh surmised deals of that sort did go on in New York but at a quieter level, true backroom deals and not as bald as here. The wheeling and dealing, the expectation that Hugh serve up Demelza to the whims of a jaded industry. All sorts of horrible people asked after the possibility of sleeping with Demelza, watching her shower, watching her have sex with Malcolm, sleeping with Malcolm, the expectation that Hugh would serve his bandmates up on a platter like a whore and a rent boy for serious advantages. A skin trade for airplay, for favors. It was a sick meat market. These people were aghast that Hugh declined. If sex was not on offer, what about money? You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. Graft was open season too. Hugh would not get mixed up with that either. He would not risk his reputation or fall afoul of the law. The Armitages got their wealth and kept it in a serious network of above board accountants managing a family trust and property with no funny business. Hugh rose, at an impressively young age, to a position of success at WEA keeping a clean nose to the grindstone. Hugh avoided becoming entangled in dubious deals and never had need of Warner's "cleaner", the dark network of problem solvers that made scandals disappear for a price and would keep one of your feet in the true criminal underworld if you availed yourself of their assistance. Hugh considered himself above reproach, a moral exemplar. He deftly put down all the dark offers in Los Angeles and refused to let any of the high flying executives have at Hansel and Gretel. Some were polite, some incredulous but they all looked at Hugh with greedy, curious eyes. It was as if they could smell the sin on Hugh's brow. Some hinted as much. That it was not for propriety's sake, that Hugh was not a stainless, moral person. A wink. A nod. A sneer. They believed Hugh was guarding his own perks. They followed Hansel and Gretel with greedy eyes and thought Hugh was enjoying his own advantage. They thought that "Armitage won't share", that he kept his pretty guitarist and attractive drummer for his own pleasure. They wanted to sleep with them. They wanted to watch them fuck each other, _as Hugh had done..._ He did not feel like he was one of those grasping, greedy men. Even when they looked at him in a smug satisfaction, thinking Hugh was as immoral as they were. He grew distressed. He was NOT like them! It was NOT like that! It had been pure! They had been summoned, summoned by the goddess. Malcolm and Demelza love each other, it was love. They love each other! He had not sought it! Demelza needed a guitar, a suit for Malcolm was justified! He hadn't a proper suit! Not tapping the advance was just good business sense. Why shouldn't they enjoy themselves, two young people in New York, seeing the city with fresh eyes, new joys? Money's for spending! They were blameless! He was blameless! Hugh has been deeply unhappy to consider any sort of overlap of these power barons trying to trade access to favors and himself. Hugh stared out into the night. Hansel and Gretel. He wanted Malcolm to prevail. Hugh would keep his promise, not tell Hansel of Gretel's distress this night. But Poldark was persona non grata to Hugh now. _Something_ upset Demelza enough to flee her husband and bruise her hand. 

Mon enfant, ma soeur,  
Songe à la douceur  
D'aller là-bas vivre ensemble!  
Aimer à loisir,  
Aimer et mourir  
Au pays qui te ressemble!  
Les soleils mouillés  
De ces ciels brouillés  
Pour mon esprit ont les charmes  
Si mystérieux  
De tes traîtres yeux,  
Brillant à travers leurs larmes.  
Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,  
Luxe, calme, et volupté

Dem woke to Hugh reciting some sort of verse in French, warm at her back with the covers between them as a barrier. She turned under the covers to see Hugh seated next to her, a clipboard and pen on his lap, in a robe so plush and well tailored, pajamas of such a fine weave they might not look out of place as proper clothes. Black velvet slippers that might not look out of place as proper shoes. He lay a hand at her hair. The smirk had returned. "Wake now, ma fée," he said quietly. "I will escort you to your room." She began rubbing her eyes gently in waking, sloughing off the brittle crust of salt at the corners from crying. Hugh watched her with a frown. The bruised knuckle was visible as she rubbed her eyes. "Wash your face, ma fée, freshen yourself and then I shall walk you to your room. She nodded. She used Hugh's bathroom and Hugh led her to her room by her fingertips, hands raised between them, as if she was being presented at court. He kissed her hand and bid her goodnight at her door. Dem went back into her room. Ross lay on the bed, dressed in black jeans and a carelessly buttoned linen shirt. The pillows were piled so he was sitting up a bit. Demelza walked towards the bed in a loose fitting black tee shirt and a cotton, broomstick skirt that swished as she walked. Their feet were bare. They might have been at Nampara, they had shed the sharp suit, shed all the paint and glitter. They looked very much themselves but they struggled to hold their identities. Had they been so loving, so happy, when they first arrived simply because they pretended themselves into it? Pretended that it didn't matter that they had fallen so far apart, closed their eyes to Ross declining to mention meeting Elizabeth at Sawle Church. That Dem had strayed, holding that secret fast. Was their row fighting against that reality as truths came creeping forward this far away in California? Could they find their happiness again if other secrets remained? Could they keep their happiness if other secrets were disclosed? Dem's footfall was silent as she padded across the carpet and climbed into bed. She passed the deceased looking remnants of the incident, a scatter of bracelets, shed clothes lay where they had been tossed aside, the fall of false hair laying in a tangled hump, the broken glass, the door brace, the splatters of port on the carpet. She sat up on her knees and they looked at each other in the dim room, lit by the bathroom light. Ross reached to hold her hand and they relished the warmth in it. The absence of warmth had frightened them both as they drew apart after they'd had sex. They were not those make up smeared creatures who rutted against the mirror now. Ross looked at Dem with a heavy heart. They'd been two drunks rowing and snipping like two bitter barflies, he struck the glass... Her hand.... Smacked port all over her and had a poisoned, horrible sort of sex as a desperate sort of pact to forget but it made it worse. And then she left. He worried she would not return. Thought she would ask to stay with Caroline until morning. He said so. "I thought you might not come back..." Dem crawled forward and came to lay next to him. She smoothed back his hair and he closed his eyes as she did so. Any affection from her was like a tonic and he was determined to focus on the sensation even as he was still loggy from drink. Timidly, they put their arms around each other. Her skirt grazed in a soft light drift of crinkled fabric across his toes, his chest was warm as she pressed her cheek where the shirt fell away at his chest. They were still somewhat aggrieved. They each wanted to apologize. They each wanted an apology. It was not in either of them to do it at this moment. Frightened to begin another round of calamity. Not trusting themselves to be able to speak without shouting or tears. Needing a truce instead. A rest. No apologies came forth, but Ross was warm and Dem was warm and they fit in each others arms as well as they'd ever done. Ross was curious. Maybe she sat with Caroline. Did she tell Caroline what had happened? "Where were you?" asked Ross. There was no point in keeping it from him. "I went to Hugh's room." Ross ducked his head down to look at her. "Hugh?" She leaned back, to lay at the pillow and look at Ross properly not peering up at him from his chest. She nodded. "He gave me a glass of water and let me rest in his room while he did his paperwork." Ross nodded. Dem went to her manager and he looked after her. Ross felt she was not likely to go into a deep explanation of events with Hugh as she might have done with a another woman. Dem closed her eyes and they drew closer again. Ross kissed her forehead Dem let her hand rest at his head. The discussion could not happen now. They silently agreed to revisit this night’s events later. She spoke against his chest in an offhand wistfulness. "Hugh told me a fairy story." Ross lay his head by hers, closed his eyes as they prepared to sleep. "Did he? What was it?" asked Ross.

"Hansel and Gretel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Identity, X Ray Spex 1978
> 
> Identity
> 
> Identity is the crisis can't you see  
> Identity, identity  
> When you look in the mirror do you see yourself  
> Do you see yourself on the T.V. screen  
> Do you see yourself in the magazine  
> When you see yourself does it make you scream
> 
> Identity is the crisis can't you see  
> Identity, identity, yeaah
> 
> Identity is the crisis can't you see  
> Identity, identity  
> When you look in the mirror do you smash it quick  
> Do you take the glass and slash your wrists  
> Did you do it for fame, did you do it in a fit  
> Did you do it before you read about it
> 
> Identity is the crisis can't you see  
> Identity, identity, yeaah
> 
> slap: make up
> 
> Pot, kettle!: The pot calling the kettle black, an idiom criticizing someone for a fault that they have too 
> 
> déshabillé: not fully dressed, dressed for bed
> 
> persona non grata: an unacceptable or unwelcome person
> 
> L'Invitation au voyage, Charles Baudelaire 1857  
> Invitation to the Voyage  
> Imagine, ma petite,  
> Dear sister mine, how sweet  
> Were we to go and take our pleasure  
> Leisurely, you and I—  
> To lie, to love, to die  
> Off in that land made to your measure!  
> A land whose suns' moist rays,  
> Through the skies' misty haze,  
> Hold quite the same dark charms for me  
> As do your scheming eyes  
> When they, in their like wise,  
> Shine through your tears, perfidiously.  
> There all is order, naught amiss:  
> Comfort and beauty, calm and bliss.


	12. Breakfast In America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The honor guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heroes: The lyrics, "And you, you can be mean, And I, I'll drink all the time" were removed for the Currant Bun Ross and Dem in their stories under the title song, David Bowie's "Heroes". The "radio edit" omits that line. Those who don't know the album version are often surprised and some thought writers added that line in the motion picture Moulin Rogue as part of Christian and Satine's "Elephant Love Medley"

I. Breakfast In America

Hugh looked across the dining room. The imposing medieval windows and high backed chairs at the furthest tables of the room made it seem like set from a Robin Hood or an Ivanhoe film. He saw Ross seated alone to the left at one of the regular tables meant for multiple people. Other people were dotted here and there. Hugh approached Ross who looked up with a sardonic eyebrow. "John Travolta, I presume?" Hugh could see that Ross was secure in the idea that Demelza had not disclosed the nature of their argument. He greeted Hugh with no sense he was contrite or that Hugh had any idea of the altercation that bruised Demelza's hand. Hugh played along. Ross saw Hugh smirk. "Ha! I do what I can. I should think Demelza's grace lent more flair to my clumsy steps!" Ross smiled, blandly. Hugh's protestations of clumsiness when in reality he had been flawless was the sort of false modesty that made Ross' teeth itch. Hugh sat alongside Ross. The waiter asked if they would like to order. They decided to begin with coffee. Ross found as Dem did in New York, that coffee was likely to be made properly whereas tea was, most often, a tepid cup of hot water with a wan tasting tea bag alongside and an almost apologetic slice of lemon on the saucer. Hugh requested a cappuccino and a half a grapefruit, a penance before he tucked into the ridiculously large platter of American style pancakes he intended to have when they ordered properly. He also reminded the waiter that the meals at this table be charged to WEA. The waiter left and Hugh lowered his voice and leaned towards Ross. "I hope Demelza was in better spirits when she returned last night..." Ross nodded. "Yes. Thank you. Dem said you had looked after her after," Ross considered what to say. "We had words. We were both that much worse for drink I'm afraid." Ross hesitated and then said, "Forgive our intrusion into your night..." Ross had begun the conversation in sarcasm but Dem had told him Hugh had been kind to her, let her rest and even told her a fairy tale like a child being calmed after a nightmare. It had been a nightmare... Hugh nodded. Poldark was circumspect and Hugh would not make any suggestion or question what had gone on between them to bruise her hand in a public dinning room. "Malcolm and Demelza, both, did not drink to that degree in New York. High spirits I suppose, it was a grand event... I had not thought to slow them down..." said Hugh in an offhand manner. Ross shrugged. "I wouldn't think you could have stopped them, they were feted to an absurd degree in this hellhole. Their eyes met. In that moment each man realized the other had batted away the same gross suggestions and unpleasantness. Hugh had not considered a “second front” in the battle to bed Demelza, not believed the sort of men who approached him as manager would seek to deal directly with her husband. Ross had not considered the battle extended to Malcolm. Hugh lowered his voice. "Caroline had them safely stowed among the socialites last night.” said Hugh. “I shall keep them safe for the duration..." Ross' eyebrows went up in surprise. "Them?" Ross had thought they were speaking about Dem alone. Hugh made an annoyed 'tich' sound through his teeth. His voice raised up an octave when he was scandalized or amused. It did so now, even as he spoke quietly. “Do you know how much money some people are throwing around? Offering serious perks to sleep with them?!” Ross stared in baffled shock. “Dem _and_ Malcolm!?” asked Ross. Hugh narrowed his eyes, not registering Ross’ surprise that Malcolm was a target as well in his affronted huff of being offended. “I’d be lying if I said these sorts of things didn’t go on in other cities but this place is appalling!” complained Hugh. “I feel like I’ve been dropped into a ring of Dante’s Inferno!” Hugh leaned in closer, "In New York I was treated as a manager and occasionally even a bass player. Over here I'm little better than a procurer." This was so much like a comment Ross made to Dem about Armitage dancing with Demelza during their argument Ross felt a little embarrassed. “Perks?” asked Ross still queasy that people were as eager to try to get at the drummer as Dem. Hugh whispered. “Airplay on American radio, proper playlist rotation in the larger American markets...” Ross’ eyes went wide. “I hope you spat at him!” said Ross, offended. Hugh looked at Ross as if he’d lost his reason. “You’re joking! The last thing I would do is insult any of them!” Ross blinked again that Hugh speech was plural, not just one scenario. “No. I simply made it clear there would be none of that! We will need these bastards later! A fish cannot live in water that is _too_ clean. These same people hold the keys to power. I’ll not make a show of offense and then get Demelza blacklisted before we even get the album out!” said Hugh. “That’s so brave of you...” said Ross, dryly. Not surprised by Armitage’s bloodless efficiency, pragmatism in the face of these leeches. Ross told so many people “Fuck off!” last night, he’d lost count. “Merely, common sense,” retorted Hugh. “We shall leave here with a clean reputation, good publicity and inroads in the biggest market. That doesn’t happen being led about by emotion. It doesn’t happen looking to pick fights. It happens through good judgement and negotiation, making connections...” At that moment, one could look at Ross and Hugh, talking in an intimate, close range conversation, and mistake them for close friends as George Warleggan did. He finished shaking hands at the far end of the dining room in a morning coffee with an A&R man looking to relocate to London. Not the right sort for Warleggan Group but a nice chance to be seen about in Los Angeles as a person important enough to have morning meetings in one of the more artistically inclined hotels. George preferred his staid, more conservative lodgings but liked the obvious Bohemianism of this place. The seriousness of business hospitality conducted among Art Deco flourish with the “see and be seen” common areas; the lobby, the bar, the well appointed swimming pool that the people staying here treated as an ornament to pose by rather than be seen swimming in, so packed with “beautiful people”. George rolled his eyes. Los Angeles was lousy with Brits at the moment. Of course Armitage would favor the arty sort of accommodations here. Monk had quipped that the Cornish were their own Mafia. At the point George might have walked past an left entirely, ignored them, he felt compelled to tell them of their notoriety and perhaps poke Ross in a tender spot over that drummer. Even Elizabeth believed Brodrugan’s tattle about Dem stepping out with her drummer. It made Monk’s success in snaffling Poldark’s wife that more likely. She was a proper tart last night, brazen... George was surprised to see them looking so chummy but Armitage was working with Ross wife. It stood to reason they got on. Two “ancient name” so and sos. Armitage was a Boscawen too and had little time for Cornwall. Too much of a frog for Cornwall. Ross had an old Cornish lineage too. The sort of families that looked down their noses at the self made newcomers like the Warleggans. The sort of families that deigned to pay him notice now that he had Elizabeth, a Chynoweth, as his wife. Stuck up bastards. George was always rankled by the ease with with those people still had the power and audacity to look down on him. George sat down opposite Ross and bid them good morning. Ross looked at George in irritation and sighed. ‘Of all the gin joints in this town...’ thought Ross, displeased that George plunked himself at his table.“Good morning, George.” said Ross in a bored voice. “I wonder why you feel it necessary to be here at all let alone sit here when the room is large enough we should not have to interact.” Hugh looked between them with interest. Ross made it plain Warleggan was not welcome. “Ah, I was interviewing a potential employee and very nearly passed you by, but felt we must stick together for the sake of our reputation!” said George. “What?” asked Ross. George pointed between the three of them. “Do you know what they call us?” asked George in good humor. “Us?!” said Ross and Hugh at the same time. Each a little disturbed that they be lumped with George as well as each other. “Yes, they’ve taken to calling us the Cornish Mafia!” Hugh gave a snort of a laugh. A derisive laugh. “Ha! The ‘Cornish Mafia’! For pity’s sake!” Hugh, who spent his childhood summers in New York City pronounced ‘mafia’ the American way. Both George and Ross found this puncture in the midst Hugh’s plumy English accent obnoxiously affected. Malcolm came upon them and treated them to the British pronunciation by way of working class Scotland. “What’s this about the Mafia, then?” Hugh smirked. “Good morning, Malcolm. Mr. Warleggan was saying some Americans having taken to calling us the ‘Cornish Mafia’.” “Well, that let’s me out then!” said the Scot with a chuckle. “‘Maw fee uh’! Ee say it just like them films, Hugh! You sound a right Yank!” said Malcolm, cheerfully as he sat on the other side of Hugh. George could see Malcolm was as common as common could be and sniffed. “I shouldn’t think the Americans spare a thought for Scotland at all.” Having asked the waiter for a coffee and turned back to the table, Malcolm ignored George’s comment but had heard it. Malcolm thought George a tosser. He ignored him. He turned to Ross. “Is Red comin’ down? We got a tour on today, one a them sightseein’ tours!” Ross said, “Dem’s having a lie in, I don’t think she’ll be down.” Hugh wondered how to get rid of George. He seemed to place himself here to needle Ross. Ross looked ready to strangle him and there was the matter of the child he had with Warleggan’s wife, Ross’ cousin by marriage for pity’s sake... George was looking at Malcolm with disdain and made a snippy remark about Scotland. Hugh could see Malcolm was annoyed by George even as he pretended he was not. “So, Mr. Warleggan,” began Hugh. George smiled. Armitage was making a splash in this town for all George loathed the Poldarks and snooty, aristocratic toffs like him. Being seen talking to the WEA producer was good business. A rising tide lifts all boats. If the Americans here kept seeing George among someone making waves, like Armitage, he could have the cachet of his star power rub off on Warleggan Group. “Please, call me George.” Hugh inclined his head. “Ah, George. Is it true you at Warleggan Group have the license to release some of the disco records in the U.K.?” George was flattered that Armitage asked. Getting the rights to Casablanca’s singles was very lucrative. Any chance to talk about it made George happy. That he opened the subject was a pleasant surprise but, of course, Armitage was management. This business playing bass with Ross’ wife and the Scot must be a frivolity on his part. “Yes, we stand to make quite a packet on the disco craze.” said George in a glow of satisfaction. Hugh set the glacé cherry that decorated his grapefruit to the side of the plate as he tucked in with the slim knife provided with it. “You don’t think it’s a bubble?” asked Hugh. Hugh wasn’t sold on disco. It had infected that French market at the moment too. For all it was fun to dance to, the market was flooded, the songs were becoming repetitive, formulaic. Artists like Demelza were poised to ascend if Hugh was correct in his view of the market. People would pivot to something else as the Eighties dawned. Disco, as a fad, would wane. George shrugged. “Even if it is a bubble we’re making a killing! And it’s a license agreement. Casablanca will be left holding the bag if the Disco bubble bursts.” Hugh nodded good naturedly, hummed a response as he ate a section of grapefruit he’d freed with the curved knife and the slender, long handled fork. Ross continued to glower at George. “How is Elizabeth?” asked Ross in a tone of voice that held a note of sadism. Hugh and Malcolm looked at George. They didn’t move a muscle, just their eyes, and in that moment George realized all at the table knew Valentine was Ross’ son. George glared at Ross and fervently hoped Adderley would make good on his boast and give Dem a disease in the process. George answered, “Very well thank you.” George blandly. He narrowed his eyes. If Ross asked after Valentine he would not be polite. Hugh scanned the room. Warleggan was a vain, grasping kind of fellow. It was early morning but somebody in here might be a good bait to push George off, a producer or a money man, someone Hugh could foist George onward to like a shiny object. Get him away from them through redirection. He and Ross seemed poised for an altercation. He sawed at the inside edge of the rind for another grapefruit section. Malcolm sugared his coffee. Hugh and Ross were used to this spectacle but George stared, eyebrows raised in astonishment at Malcolm emptying packet after packet of sugar into his coffee cup. The pile of empty ones grew by his saucer. He might have been trying to build a sand castle in the middle of the cup with coffee for a moat. That he kept having to rip them open, one after their other, was fascinating and repellent. It would taste far too sweet for George to want to drink it. Ross continued to glower at George. Hugh tried to keep the conversation light as he wondered if George might be too toxic to risk sending him to a different executive. George was the sort to name drop. It might annoy the person if George told him he’d introduced himself at Armitage’s suggestion. Hugh did have his own reputation to mind... It might be better just tell Warleggan to leave... “It is fun, I suppose, disco...” said Hugh affably. George looked at Hugh, momentarily distracted by the amount of sugar the drummer was putting in his coffee. “What? Oh, yes, well... You were happy enough with it last night!” Hugh chuckled. He danced with Demelza at the party. “Yes, that was quite fun...” Maliciously, George turned to Ross. “I was surprised to see Demelza dance so well, Ross. Though I suppose she’s adept to learning new tricks, or turning new tricks...” Ross, Hugh and Malcolm, each of them having spent time in New York City, had no delay in understanding that George had just suggested Dem was a prostitute. George, who’s impulse to gode Ross had gotten the better of him, suddenly remembered he had now also insulted Demelza in front of her band members as well. Ross’ jaw was set, Hugh looked appalled and Malcolm, who already was annoyed with George, flung his coffee at him. It went down his neck and spattered his chin and clothes. It was not hot enough to burn him and because Malcolm had only begun to stir it a glittering sludge of coffee tinted sugar slid down the front of his tie like a gloop of paste. In the brief pause that followed, George sitting in rigid discomfort in his coffee soaked clothes, Ross and Malcolm stared at him, faces pinched with anger, flanking Hugh with the blood thirsty look of a pair of security dogs, waiting to be released by some agreed upon signal to go for the jugular. Armitage spoke, quietly. “Since you have insulted Ross’ wife and our guitarist, you should apologize and leave this table. I should think coffee is a good deal easier to remove from your shirt than blood.” George looked not at Hugh but at the grapefruit knife. Hugh was twiddling the thin, curved blade in a menacing manner. George looked across the table at three men who looked ready to kill him. Ross already cowed and ashamed by his fight with Dem last night was incensed by George’s dig at her, calling her a whore. Hugh and Malcolm had personal reasons above being her band that made them extra sensitive to the insult. For them, Demelza’s honor was stainless. George stared at the grapefruit knife. Of the three of them it was Armitage that looked the most threatening. It flashed reflected light from the windows as Hugh twirled it in his fingers and looked too calm. Ross and the drummer looked angry. Hugh looked calm. That was more dangerous looking somehow. “I beg your pardon.” George muttered as he left the table. Other diners whispered amusement over the scene. Ross and Malcolm watched George leave. Hugh rolled his eyes. “Save me from L.A....” he huffed with a sigh.

II. Victim of Love

"'Ave ee hurt your 'and somewhere, Red?" asked Blue, glancing at the bruised knuckles on her hand. Dem chuckled as they walked off, Blue holding her left hand in the habit of their friendship as she waggled her right hand in front of them both, let it drop back at her side unconcerned. "Oh, yes." chuckled Dem. "I got my wrist stuck in all those bracelets and my hand flung out too fast once I got free of them I hit my hand on the dresser, they were worse than a rabbit trap!" As they grew farther away Malcolm could be heard telling his friend she should "have a care, Red! Ee can't be playin' guitar wi' a gammy 'and!" and then chatting about this and that in the ordinary way they conversed about anything. Ross felt a troubled admiration at Demelza's casual verisimilitude. Ross watched Malcolm fling his coffee at George Warleggan without missing a beat, without a second thought. The second the insult left George's mouth Malcolm defended her honor. Ross had the shame to realize Dem was not lying on her own behalf. She did not want Malcolm to know Ross had struck her. She was lying, not to spare herself embarrassment but to protect him from Malcolm taking offense. Hugh was disgusted. They should be at the Academy Awards, not the Grammys, if her performance now was to be measured. Demelza was walking along hand in hand with a good hearted man, a loyal friend who championed her talent with such enthusiasm when he first met the Scot. A cheerful stranger who handed Hugh his sought after muse for his U.K. project the way the drummer might have offered a sweet from the bag in his pocket. A man who respected her, a musician with whom she had true rapport. An old fashioned, working class family at his back, for all he was abroad, people in Scotland who would take her to their bosom and be proper family to her. Good to her children, good to her dog! Malcolm, so tied to his sense of what was right and what was wrong, made what Hugh considered to be a sensible and necessary exception. Malcolm made love to Demelza in New York and she returned his love. Demelza loved him for pity's sake! Hugh saw them! And now she was lying through her pretty little teeth for the sake of this exasperating husband, skulking in the corners drinking all night. Is it any wonder the perverts in this town saw Demelza as a loose end, a toy? Ten years her senior, giving her just enough attention to keep her needy and then doing whatever the hell he wanted. What kind of love was that?! Why cling to _him_?! Demelza was Ross' victim! Ross turned to Hugh. From where he was standing he could see Hugh watching his bandmates trot away to their sightseeing tour from the side of his glasses. He watched them go with his smirk on his face and then he sighed. Armitage sighed. Hugh turned to Ross. Looked at him. If Dem told Hugh that same cock and bull story about hitting her hand on the dresser, Ross had a sense that Armitage was less inclined to believe it. He had a calm authority over dismissing George before Ross or Malcolm progressed to an actual brawl. In this Ross could only believe he was guarding Dem from bad publicity. Hugh was fingering the grapefuit knife in a manner that would give _Ross_ pause should it have been directed at him. Even Hugh looked to calm himself from rash behaviour in that moment. He was right to do that. Hugh was right to halt the escalation that was brewing. Ross could appreciate that. Appreciate both of them. Dem's band was her gang. Malcolm and Hugh were very different in their personalities but they had common cause in standing by Dem. Ross still had misgivings about Hugh but he was glad of that. Ross was less glad at this moment. Hugh's icy looking sunglasses pointed in his direction. The sensation that Armitage's loyalty to his guitarist at this moment included her husband as a foe also was palpable. "I'm told there are live sets in the afternoon around here, the newer artists trying to get a look in for nighttime slots at these clubs, popular pitches for the label scouts, proper talents..." said Hugh. Ross nodded. "Shall we?" asked Hugh. "I think some local colour is not to be missed. Caroline is about on her own, 'Red and Blue' are off on their doings..." Ross heard Hugh's use of Demelza and Malcolm's nicknames for each other as a humorous aside between him, their manager and Ross, Dem's husband. 'The kids are occupied...', he might have said. "Perhaps some live music wouldn't go amiss." suggested Hugh. Ross and Hugh looked at each other. In that moment Ross was 90% sure Hugh had little doubt who was responsible for Dem's knuckles being bruised. Ross nodded. "Yes, I would like that." said Ross. Hugh inclined his head, in agreement. Ross Poldark had been as harassed with indecent proposals from entertainment higher ups of all stripes as he had. Being seen about together as a united front was a sensible gambit to shut some of that down. A united front. Ross and Demelza had some sort of fight that led to him injuring the knuckles of her right hand in some fashion. Bruises, not a more serious injury but was that the luck of the draw? Could it have become worse? Hugh, for all he had misgivings over Poldark, was hard pressed to believe Ross _struck_ her dominant hand with something. She had a father who beat her, she was a guitarist and played piano. Demelza wouldn't shrug off intentional harm like that... Demelza seemed to have her story from the first. The tale that she hit her hand on the dresser. Perhaps Ross shoved her? She was knocked into the chest of drawers? A guitarist needs the use of their hands. Was Ross was careless or was he malicious? Hugh would spend an afternoon with her husband. Keep an eye on him. Hugh's hands were full enough batting away greedy Americans. He had not figured on having a loose cannon within his own ranks on this trip. _Keep your friends close and your enemies closer..._ He would keep an eye on Ross, engender a sense of common purpose. United in keeping Hansel and Gretel away from the grasping claws of others. A common goal in seeing Demelza looked after properly. "I shall have a car called and leave a note at the front desk should Caroline or Demelza and Malcolm arrive back before we do..." Ross nodded. They went to the front desk and onward to see what could be seen.

Red and Blue on their sightseeing tour, Caroline spending a pleasant afternoon viewing hand dyed silk scarves that she was considering bringing into her London shop, Ross and Hugh watching various unknown singer/songwriters of high ability in their afternoon slots, there was much to catch up on over dinner in the restaurant of their hotel. Convenient but also an unspoken agreement to stay close, be able to simply go upstairs afterward rather than be driven to and fro. A chance for Hugh, Malcolm and Ross to behave as if the altercation of the morning with George had not happened for the ladies benefit. A chance for Ross and Dem to behave as if their altercation of the previous night had not happened for the benefit of Hugh, Malcolm and Caroline. A chance for Demelza and Hugh to behave as if Ross and Dem's previous night's altercation had not happened for Malcolm and Caroline's benefit. A chance for Hugh to behave in a circumspect manner for Demelza's benefit, that he would keep his word and not inform Malcolm of the goings on between 'Red' and her husband. The meal was full of talk and a light mood was maintained by all parties for the duration. Dem, Caroline and Malcolm continued to chatter in Hugh's room while Hugh and Ross played chess at the table by the balcony. "What have you done to your hand, Demelza?" asked Caroline who had noticed the tinge of blue on one of her knuckles. "I flung it against the dresser when I tried to get those bangles off. They stuck fast and then they didn't..." Caroline chuckled. "Oh my! I suppose you'd be better off with bracelets that unclasp!" Dem blinked a bashful agreement. "We shall have gloves to wear at the Grammys," smiled Caroline. Hugh watched Ross as he considered moving his piece. Certainly able to hear what was discussed, Ross showed no discomfort. The Poldarks seemed secure in their deception. Hugh allowed Ross to win at chess, an expedient way to bring the visiting to an end for Ross and Demelza. They took their leave as Caroline suggested a game and Malcolm thought to look up someone he had known in New York. Malcolm and Caroline waved as they left. Hugh simply nodded and said, "Goodnight, ma fée." in a light manner, resetting the board. Malcolm went on his way. Caroline came to the table and sat down. "Hugh?" He looked at her over the chessboard. "Is Demelza quite alright?" At the point Hugh had to start to consider his answer, Caroline spared him by considering the wrong emphasis. "Does she often drink so? She seemed lighthearted last night, and Malcolm, but to injure her hand like that, too drunk to remove her bracelets properly...?" Hugh was inwardly thankful. "No. Demelza and Malcolm do not make a habit of drinking like that. As far as I can see it was a one off. They don't seem likely to want to repeat it either for all they enjoyed themselves" She nodded. They played chess.

III. Heroes

Ross and Dem returned to their room. The door brace was moved to a slender, nearby closet, meant for umbrellas or coats. Tucked in the back corner. Hidden away. They readied for bed. They undressed for bed. In an unspoken decision they went to bed nude. Having woken this morning in their clothes, the clothes they each changed into after the incident, they craved the nearness. Ross and Dem were quiet. Ross heard her, again, tell of hurting herself to explain the bruise on her hand. She had told Caroline with the same offhand self deprecation as she told Malcolm. It had to be talked of. They must discuss it. The hotel's bed was larger than the one at Nampara. The luxury of it had faded. They felt marooned together in the center of a giant island. Dem couldn't decide whether to face Ross or not. Ross willed her to turn to him. He opened his mouth to ask Dem to when she turned to face him of her own accord. There was light from the bathroom, it was not entirely dark. They looked at each other with the same sense of doubt. Apologies weren't given last night. They might not go amiss tonight but that was less important than talking of the event itself. How to begin? "It won't happen again, Dem..." said Ross quietly. "I swear it." Dem's eyes seemed darker, her back to the light from the bathroom. He watched them close. Did she believe him? "Dem..." She did not open her eyes as she spoke. "Mum used to say, 'If you love someone, tesn’t a few bruises on the back that are going to count. It’s whether that other one loves you in return. If he do, then he can only hurt your body. He can’t hurt your heart.' ..." Ross' mouth fell open as he digested what Demelza had said. Dem opened her eyes. She felt Ross tense up and she watched him looking at her incredulous that she told him this. Dem held Ross' gaze. It wasn't so much that Ross could not hurt Dem's heart, he had done so. It was more that Dem show the capacity for forgiveness. Dem could choose to numb her heart in this moment and go forward. That was all one could do. All that her mother could do... "Is that how she explained your father...? Did she say that to you?!" asked Ross. Dem shook her head 'no'. She was talking to a neighbor. I heard her say it but she wasn't talking to me." Ross still found it unsettling. "Dem, I was drunk and angry but I did not have the right to hurt you," Dem closed her eyes speaking quietly. "I didn't have the right to hurt you..." said Dem. Ross knit his brow in confusion. "What?! What do you mean? We were arguing you didn't," she interrupted him. "When you came back from being with Elizabeth..." Ross recoiled a bit. Prudie had told him off over all of his antics back then but one thing she said was making Dem angry enough to backhand him was a 'mortal shame'. That Demelza was a gentle girl and that was a proof of how deeply she felt let down. She had apologized when they sought to reconcile. Ross did not think it held more guilt for her. He was pulled in strange directions. Ross freely admitted he felt Dem smacking him then, away from home for a night and a day having cheated on her and gone back to drugs, was justified. Hitting Dem was unjustifiable. Telling Dem her hitting him was acceptable was not in any way the same as him knocking the drink... Ross closed his eyes. He hit her on the hand with a rod. What if he had broken her finger, not bruised it. He hit her right hand. He hit his guitar playing, piano playing wife on her hand and she was suggesting it was equal to giving him a shiner, years gone. "Dem... I should not hurt your body OR your heart, Dem!" Ross had no idea what else to say. He meant it but surely that was cold comfort for Dem. He had hurt Dem's heart repeatedly. Maggie announcing his leave taking of Liza at Sawle Church had hurt Demelza afresh. Ross never thought he would offer Dem violence and yet he did. What do promises mean when you keep having to renew them? Dem sighed sadly. "I shouldn't either. That makes us quits. I hit you. You hit me. We are even..." "Dem!" said Ross sharply. "That's not... That's..." Ross stared at Dem and in that moment he understood her. ' _No_ ,' Dem might have said. ' _But that's all I've got. That's the only solution I've got._ ' They stared at each other. She lied to Malcolm and Caroline and Hugh, though Hugh seemed suspicious. She even chuckled, she was acting. She was lying. She was lying for them. Ross started to understand her point of view. She had thrown her lot in with Ross when she told them she had hit her own hand. Stood by her husband. For better or worse. She closed ranks and 'protected' them from other people's judgements. Ross understood that Dem had turned a corner in her life she had not anticipated but had resigned herself to. She had become her mother, used her mother's solution and pretend to others that her husband did not harm her. He made a keening sort of noise in his throat. Ross started crying. They would have to lie to the Paynters too, by omission. How could they dare tell them any of this on the eve of their retirement? Ross was dimly aware they might have given notice of their intent earlier if Valentine's paternity had not punctured Ross and Dem's marriage. How many lies does it take to pretend to be normal? "Dem, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" a soft whisper at her ear. Dem was not in a tearful mood. There was a pragmatism in her feelings that fatigued her in a way but it was not entirely sadness. Pa never apologized. Pa never looked at Mum and told her 'I shouldn't have done that,'. Pa would explain all the reasons why Mum deserved it. Pa never said sorry to Dem or her brothers. Pa had no regrets or heartsearchings. Pa would never cry and feel sad. And that, Dem felt, was the difference between Pa and Ross, between Mum and herself. She and Ross could come to an understanding that her parents could never do. Ross was not like Pa. That meant she was not Mum. Dem had a calming sort of relief thinking about it that way. Ross looked after their children and even when he was less attentive to Jeremy when he was small he worked to change. He fixed it. Jeremy was much more secure in the loyalty of both his parents and Clowance knew nothing else. Their daughter smiled through her little life without the hesitations and scrutiny of her older brother. Clowance did not look inside her Mama and Papa for clues like Jeremy sometimes did. Clues that things might be wrong. And Jeremy seemed content when Dem or Ross told him that things were alright. Ross was good hearted and didn't mean to be cruel. They would be a family. The Paynters would want nothing less. Dem would not be able to look Jud and Prudie in the face and admit that this incident had occurred but could look them both in the face and pretend it didn't. Dem could pretend herself better. Ross could pretend himself better. Be the people Prudie and Jud wanted them to be and by pretending rearrange the world around them until it was truth. They would be the people she wanted her brothers to believe they were, not slipping. They would be the people Jeremy and Clowance and perhaps even Julia wanted them to be. Would any of this happened? _Any_ of it, if Julia had lived? They could still be they people they wanted to be, if they tried. Dem stared across the room over Ross' head in a solemn determination. She would be fitty. Ross would be fitty. They would be fitty. "We'll be a family, Ross. We'll be fitty," whispered Dem. She stroked his hair and that made him cry more. He bent his head forward at her shoulder and she stroked his hair the way she did when he had a nightmare. It had been a nightmare... "Don't cry, Ross." said Dem. "We can start over, Ross. We can be good to each other and it will be better. We will be better. We did it once before didn't we?" Ross sniffed wetly. Nodded. They separated after all their troubles and they got back together. "We'll do it, Ross. You be you and I'll be me and we'll be alright." Ross nodded. He clung to her and Dem held him tight, did not falter, gave him love and forgiveness and held him tight. Dem was his angel of redemption. Dem saw the good in things _in him_ , even when he lost sight of it. Dem guarded him from the censure of her bandmates and Caroline so they could start again. So they could work out their marriage between themselves, for she knew him and trusted Ross to do better. He knew her, he lost sight of it in her party clothes, angry with her embrace of all this gloss and surface, blamed her for changing. Ross had erred. It _was_ gloss and surface. Dem had not changed. She was ever his West Country girl. Dem went to the party in a spirit of fun, happy to dress like her new girlfriend like a twin, happy to enjoy the party with good friend in Malcolm who maintained Dem was above reproach and their friendship platonic. Malcolm went after George faster than Ross did in Warleggan's rude suggestion that Dem "turned tricks". Dem danced with her manager the way Ross had watched her be taught for months. The culmination of all those dance lessons in the heart of the American music industry.They performed the dance routine they had been working on in what was in truth a work situation. They were doing exactly what they came to the Grammy week to do. L.A. was full of vipers but Hugh had told Ross Caroline specifically kept Malcolm and Demelza with the socialites and wives, looked to keep them away from all the creeps and let them have their fun. Armitage had as many rude suggestions put to him as Ross had and vowed to keep his bandmates out of harms way. Ross let the negativity of this place drag him down. Drinking and grumbling and thinking of Dem entirely backwards. He should have sought to stay sober and look after her like her friends did, stand by her the way Dem stood by him now. He had been angry at the scensters who plagued him and blamed Dem's dress. _Ross_ could not see past the gloss and surface. He should have had front of mind that it was Dem under all that silly make up and she was disappointed in having Elizabeth thrown in her face again, even here away from home in America, and wanted to enjoy herself at an exciting party. Ross had ruined her night and hurt her. And she still loved him. She still believed in him. Dem left him the save their marriage and now she stayed with him to save their marriage. Ross would stand by her the way he should have. The way Malcolm and Hugh did. Hugh sensed their was more to Dem's injury than she admitted and let it lie. That showed loyalty to Dem. Ross should show more loyalty as her husband than a manager or a friend. Ross vowed would be her husband in truth. He wiped his eyes. Dem closed her eyes. Ross' hand was moist from wiping his eyes free of tears and it lay upon her hip with a warmth and a healing dampness where it lay on her skin. Ross loved her and his tears were a conduit between them. Dem loved him and her tears were a conduit between them. The tears would dry but that proof of their love and contrition would remain. The quiet alchemy of two people who were joined by the heart. A transmutation by salt solution bringing them closer together, tears drying upon their skin, hers at his shoulder, his warm at her hip. It is said, be it tears, sweat or the sea, salt water cures every thing. The Poldarks had cause to shed tears in their life, together and apart. They may well have earned a measure of restoration in sweat, through toil, working towards their aims, rearing their children, in the musk of two people who join in love. The calm of the sea in its serenity, its grandeur in its strength, its rolling waves and promise of play, of happiness; the water by Nampara Cove, so vital to their lives in Cornwall had the power to heal as well. But living in sight of the sea can be instructive too. It can teach by example. Ross, Demelza both wished to heal, strove to heal but, like the mighty sea, now and then you do not have all the control of your feelings that you should have and then thoughts and feelings surge up in you like an angry tide. And it is hard, sometimes it is hard, to control the tide. In their bitter argument they fought alongside unspoken secrets and a weight of guilt; ghosts, of their parents, of lost parenthood in the death of Julia; pride of lost fortunes in the quieting decline of Ross' career, pride of new victories in the burgeoning career of Dem's; the struggle for balance, identity, the security of being "right"; the fear that love might wane, in him, in her, frightened they might each lose the other, be left behind. The Poldark's had unleashed their feelings with the destructive power of an angry tide. Like the might of the seawater that bashed vessels against the cliffs and promised ruin. In this moment the calm had come to their troubled waters, in shame, in understanding, in sympathy and forgiveness. In a pact to try again. The anger subsided but in this quiet moment they fought for other goals. For their honor, their children, their marriage and their friendship. The drama was past, the bruise on Dem's hand caused them both pain. They lay near, skin to skin, hoping to rise in the morning in renewal and possessors of hearts that don't hurt. They snuggled closer together in a calm emotional state. They had come to an understanding. They would try again. "Goodnight, Ross." whispered Dem. "Goodnight, my love." whispered Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast In America, Supertramp 1978
> 
> Take a look at my girlfriend  
> She's the only one I got  
> Not much of a girlfriend  
> I've never seem to get a lot
> 
> Take a jumbo across the water  
> Like to see America  
> See the girls in California  
> I'm hopin', it's going to come true  
> But there's not a lot, I can do
> 
> Could we have kippers for breakfast  
> Mummy dear, Mummy dear  
> They got to have 'em in Texas  
> 'Cos everyone's a millionaire
> 
> I'm a winner, I'm a sinner  
> Do you want my autograph  
> I'm a loser, what a joker  
> I'm playing my jokes upon you  
> While there's nothin' better to do  
> Hey
> 
> Papararam pano daram no no no  
> Papararam pano daram no no no  
> Na na na nana na na na
> 
> Don't you look at my girlfriend  
> (Girlfriend)  
> She's the only one I got  
> Not much of a girlfriend  
> (Girlfriend)  
> I've never seem to get a lot  
> (What she got in another land)
> 
> Take a jumbo cross the water  
> Like to see America  
> See the girls in California  
> I'm hoping it's going to come true  
> But there's not a lot I can do
> 
> Hey  
> Papararam pano daram no no no  
> Papararam pano daram no no no  
> Hey aham  
> Hey aham  
> Hey aham  
> Hey aham  
> Hey aham  
> Hey aham  
> Hey aham  
> Hey aham  
> Na na na nana na na na
> 
> Victim of Love, The Eagles 1976
> 
> What kind of love have you got?  
> You should be home but you're not  
> A room full of noise and dangerous boys  
> Still makes you thirsty and hot  
> I heard about you and that man  
> There's just one thing I don't understand  
> You say he's a liar and he put out your fire  
> How come you still got his gun in your hand?  
> Victim of love
> 
> I see a broken heart  
> You got your stories to tell  
> Victim of love  
> It's such an easy part
> 
> And you know how to play it so well
> 
> Some people never come clean  
> I think you know what I mean, oh  
> You're walkin' the wire pain and desire  
> Looking for love in between  
> Tell me your secrets I'll tell you mine  
> This ain't no time to be cool  
> And tell all your girlfriends
> 
> You been around the world friends  
> That talk is for losers and fools
> 
> Victim of love  
> I see a broken heart  
> I could be wrong but I'm not no I'm not  
> Victim of love  
> We're not so far apart  
> Show me what kind of love have you got?  
> Victim of love  
> I see a broken heart  
> I could be wrong but I'm not  
> Victim of love  
> We're not so far apart  
> What kind of love have you got?  
> Victim of love
> 
> You're just a victim of love  
> I could wrong but I'm not no I'm not  
> Victim of love  
> Now you're a victim of love  
> What kind of love have you got?  
> (Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo)  
> What kind of love have you got?  
> (Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo)  
> What kind of love have you got?
> 
> Heroes, David Bowie 1977
> 
> I, I will be king  
> And you, you will be queen  
> Though nothing will drive them away  
> We can beat them, just for one day  
> We can be heroes, just for one day
> 
> And you, you can be mean  
> And I, I'll drink all the time  
> 'Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact  
> Yes we're lovers, and that is that  
> Though nothing will keep us together  
> We could steal time just for one day  
> We can be heroes for ever and ever  
> What d'you say?
> 
> I, I wish you could swim  
> Like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim  
> Though nothing, nothing will keep us together  
> We can beat them, for ever and ever  
> Oh we can be Heroes, just for one day
> 
> I, I will be king  
> And you, you will be queen  
> Though nothing will drive them away  
> We can be Heroes, just for one day  
> We can be us, just for one day
> 
> I, I can remember (I remember)  
> Standing, by the wall (by the wall)  
> And the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads)  
> And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall)  
> And the shame, was on the other side  
> Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever  
> Then we could be Heroes, just for one day
> 
> We can be Heroesx3  
> Just for one day  
> We can be Heroes
> 
> We're nothing, and nothing will help us  
> Maybe we're lying, then you better not stay  
> But we could be safer, just for one day
> 
> Oh-oh-oh-ohh, oh-oh-oh-ohh, just for one day
> 
> procurer: pimp
> 
> A&R: responsible for talent scouting and overseeing the development of artists and songwriters.
> 
> Too much of a frog for Cornwall: too often living in France
> 
> Yank: American 
> 
> Tosser: a loser
> 
> gammy: unable to function normally because of injury or chronic pain.
> 
> Verisimilitude: appearance of being true or real
> 
> giving him a shiner: a black eye
> 
> “The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea” Isak Dinesen, 1942


	13. Sunday Papers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read all about it

George Warleggan never began his morning reading gossip papers. George read for news -proper news- and relied on his network of contacts to keep him abreast of any useful tittle tattle. In this town, in music circles, gossip rags held as much weight as a respected paper such as Variety or the L.A. Times (not a patch on the London Times, thought George...). So he began his morning after trying to recover from two earlier, unenjoyable industry parties in which he had been treated to the company of Ross Poldark and Margaret Vosper among other indignities, and grateful for not stirring from his hotel last night, (It was a relief to be at a remove, to stay in, to regroup before the next giddy round of Los Angeles parties) and a previous morning that saw him bemirched by coffee from that jumped up leprechaun, Demelza Poldark's drummer, reading through some of the less reputable papers and got a bit of entertainment for his trouble. "Elizabeth!" George called to his wife, still in the bedroom. They had an uneasy truce since the revelation of Elizabeth's indiscretion at Sawle Church. Elizabeth was secure in this pregnancy being George's progeny, able to be proven in the medical sense by blood as well. She had to take the long veiw. George would set aside that acrimony when their baby arrived. Elizabeth insisted in the privacy of their hotel room that Ross had given her chaste kisses on the face, as a final goodbye and George, after the shock wore off, was inclined to accept her version of events. That she pointedly declined to mention George's previous entanglement with Margaret was appreciated by him as well and helped to calm the waters. George was livid at the idea his wife should be seen being kissed by Ross Poldark but Margaret telling his wife she had slept with George AND Francis had mortified him in a manner that took the sharper edge of his anger with Elizabeth off and laid it at Margaret Vosper's feet. They had both been ambushed, insulted by a grasping call girl. That wretched Margaret had looked to embarrass them but wasn't she the fool? She was traipsing about with Hugh Brodrugan, a lecherous old roué who would tire of her soon enough. The pride she took in admitting she had slept with just about every man in the county showed her up as the cheap slut she was. That it made trouble for Ross as well was some comfort to George. His little schoolgirl looked rattled and Ross utterly shocked. One suspected 'Ross n Dem' hadn't cause to frolic that night. It made the newspaper article that much more amusing. "Elizabeth!" called George in an amused voice. Elizabeth joined him at the table in the sitting room of their suite. She wandered in from their bedroom like a swan that barely made the waters ripple as it glided upon the surface of a lake, the lawn dressing gown billowing on the breeze of her movement as a cape might and making her seem regal. "Did you ring for breakfast?" she yawned. George smiled. Even loggy from waking she still looked gorgeous. He'd gotten many indecent proposals come his way since they arrived. George would not entertain them but he liked to know that people coveted her. "Yes, my dear. And it seems that Ross and Dem can't keep out of the papers..." She yawned again. The lace trimmed sleeve of her dressing gown fell back and bared her arm as she covered her mouth. George smiled. Did she even know how beautiful she was? Elizabeth noted George's admiration in the corner of her eye. He had come round from the shock of that woman's venom. Elizabeth feigned ignorance of George watching her and continued to speak of Demelza. She rolled her eyes as she finished yawning. "That girl is so common! Were they wearing shoes at least?" Elizabeth found Ross and Dem's habit of plodding around barefoot grotesque. "Not quite." smiled George as he turned the paper over and chuckled as Elizabeth gasped aloud.

Hugh Armitage was often of the disposition that when one is in Rome, do as the Romans do. Being an avid reader of periodicals he took a smattering of the industry rags as well as the L.A. Times (not a patch on the London Times, thought Hugh...) Being in Los Angeles meant gossip papers as well. So he woke and picked up the parcel of papers he'd requested to be left outside his door and sat them on the bed. Warner had been pleased over the buzz Demelza and Malcolm had brought on the other night. Hugh was happy to hear they made the right impression. That all most made up for how intrusive and grotesque some of the music executives had been. He started to consider what he wanted for breakfast while leafing through the different papers. He came upon a photo that made his blood run cold. He picked up the phone. "Good morning. Come to my room, you shall breakfast with me today, not in the dining room. Yes now."

Ross lay on his back with Dem draped over him. They were not asleep. He had his arm around her and she lay listening to his heartbeat like a meditation. They were safe in repose. When they lay in bed, just being, there was a sense of correctness. That they were correct as a pair. That they were within the purest form of their existence. Ross and Dem were quietly rebuilding their relationship. Rebuilding their trust in each other after saying the sort of mean and petty things they both felt themselves incapable of inflicting on each other. After Ross hit Dem in anger. After they agreed to keep going. Trust after Ross knocked a drink out of Dem's hand with the nearest thing he could lay hand to, a door brace, and bruised her knuckles. Trust after pledging to start again. The phone rang. Dem rolled over to make up the distance of the large bed and picked up the receiver. She was beautiful. Nude and pretty, all long legs, long arms and the warmth on Ross’ skin from where she had lain upon him just perceptible as it dissipated. The tilt of her head as she spoke it the receiver. "Hello? Oh, good morning, Hu... Oh?" She sat up a little. "Now?" Ross heard the abrupt call through Dem's replies and watched her stare at the receiver as if the call was somehow in error. Dem blinked in surprise at Hugh's phone call. A 'Good morning'. No gallant suggestion that he hoped she slept well. No rapsodizing about what marvelous thing they might do or see. He did not say 'goodbye', simply hung up. Hugh had not called her 'ma fée'. She hung up the phone and turned to look at Ross who was already looking at her. "That was Hugh. He said to come to his room for breakfast." Not quite sure what this was about, they got dressed. Dem had a white, cotton tunic she favored for the little forget me nots embroidered around the neck and black tights that disappeared into black ballet flats. Ross wore black jeans and his boots with a black tee shirt laundered enough to look grey. As the walked into the hall to go to Hugh's room Malcolm emerged from his room and grinned to see them as they met up at Hugh's door. He had on blue jeans, his three eyelet work shoes and a white tee that said "Electric Ladyland Studios". "Mornin' Red, Ross. 'Ere, what's this about?" Red shrugged. "Morning, Blue." smiled Dem. "I don't know. Hugh told us to have breakfast with him today." Malcolm knocked. "It's open..." they heard through the door. Hugh sat at the sitting room table in a white Lacoste polo shirt, dark green trousers and brown loafers. More casually dressed than they had seem him on this trip and yet still an air of formality in his mein. The shirt was so clean and crisp one could be forgiven in believing Hugh would wear it once and discard it. That even laundering it would mar its perfection. Hugh also looked displeased. He frowned at all three of them. To be able to see Hugh's eyes, so often behind dark glasses was disorienting and at this moment unsettling. He was not amused. He looked at Ross in annoyance. Ross' addition to this trip kept adding a layer of anarchy over everything. "What on earth possessed you to get your kit off in a public pool?!" asked Hugh, sternly. Dem gasped as Malcolm's eyes widened, mouth fell open, and Ross glowered. Ross disliked Hugh's tone of voice. "Someone saw?" asked Dem. Hugh tossed a cloth napkin on the table; he had asked for a cappuccino before they arrived, and gestured to the newspaper that was in front of him, on the table face down. He rolled his eyes. "Saw?! Do you know what the caption is?!" Malcolm, Dem and even Ross looked at each other nervously. Hugh was very angry and they could tell it was one of the less reputable papers by its square shape. Hugh turned it over and there in grainy black and white newsprint was a photo of Ross and Dem, helpfully taken with a telephoto lens at the exact moment Dem bared her breast. The black rectangles printed over her breast and Ross' backside served to make the picture seem less wholesome not more. Hugh glowered at them all. The surprise at seeing the photo was a shock but Hugh could see even Demelza seemed to find humor in it. Ross and Malcolm twisted their mouths not to laugh. They knew this was a problem. Ross was offended that the photo was taken and sold to this paper. It was a compromising position. They could see Hugh was furious that the Poldarks could have chosen to be so indiscreet, put themselves in this predicament. All these things were evident but the caption struck them as absurdly funny. Malcolm caught Ross' eye, both trying to maintain their composure, and then broke up into hysterics. Dem was pursing her lips. She could see Hugh was livid and did not want to anger him so she tried not to laugh. The article about the influx of British music professionals in town for the Grammys was titled, "The British Are Coming" The sight of Ross and Blue laughing, hunched at the shoulder towards each other laughing together made Dem laugh too and Hugh watched all three of them laughing in annoyance. "Well I'm glad you find this funny, I don't!" groused Hugh. Demelza stifled her giggles to try and placate Hugh and looked to Ross with affection. They shared a crinkle eyed mirth as they smiled at each other. It was almost a relief to be 'Ross n Dem' once more, tossed into the papers for something silly. It lightened the dark mood had been weighing on them since the fight and its aftermath. Ross and Dem were so used to being tittered about and so blazé about wandering about Nampara half dressed -Ross with his shirt off, Dem in her shirt alone, puttering about losing their clothes entirely, nude swimming at Nampara cove as well as having sex out of doors before the children came along. For all Dem had scolded Ross over daring her to strip off in the hotel pool they just didn't have the same horrified reaction as Hugh. Gossip and intrusive newspaper articles were like clouds in the sky to Ross and Dem. They had no control over them and they floated away eventually. Hugh's eyed narrowed and he spoke a barbed reprimand that Ross took at face value but Red and Blue recognized a second layer of meaning in it. "I should have thought you ALL would recognize the value of being discreet." said Hugh in a brittle anger. Ross shrugged, still amused and unconcerned. They did nothing to be ashamed of as far as Ross was concerned. "Dem warned me and I pressed on. It's done. What's done is done." Hugh glared at them all. Malcolm and Demelza quailed and then became more circumspect. Hugh had made a veiled reference to their behaviour at the Plaza, when they were in New York months earlier _while they were standing next to Red's husband_ Hugh was happy to be the bass player, happy to have had Demelza's favour as a lover and intent on seeing her turn from this unrepentant, trouble making, possibly violent husband and embrace Malcolm as a better solution, as a true partner, but he was firmly in management mode now as well as extremely cross. Yanking Hansel and Gretel's leash over the goings on at the Plaza in front of Ross was setting them back into the asymmetrical configuration they had overcome so recently -the musicians on one side, the manager on the other. Hugh was too angry to consider the implications. Los Angeles was poisoning them all slowly... "You lot are going to end up in The Sun, you know that?!" Hugh had no doubt that picture would be sold to the notorious gossip paper in England. Dem looked to Ross. They shared a knowing smile. Hugh looked on with interest. She and Malcolm startled when he mentioned discretion and then she turned to Ross with no nerves, no suggestion that she was bothered by it even as she had been at first. Hugh had watched Demelza wave away the bruised knuckle as a silly accident removing her bracelets. She was not such an innocent. She had a strand of self preservation that brought an ease in deploying duplicity to her defense of her secrets. Hugh was grudgingly impressed. Demelza guarded himself and Malcolm with as much swiftness as she showed pretending Ross had not harmed her, and Ross too preoccupied with his irritation with the photo and Hugh demanding seriousness over the issue to see Demelza's first response. _Well, well ma fée, ever the actress aren't you?_ She turned back to Hugh. "I'm sorry, Hugh. It won't happen again." Hugh glowered. "I should hope not! You two are notorious! You should be careful not to give people reasons to repeat scandal. At this rate you will be seen as jailbait into your dotage, Demelza!" Dem frowned. "Don't pull that face!" snapped Hugh. "You know full well your reputation with Ross has hung that round both your necks!" Ross' eyes narrowed. "Do not speak to Dem like that." Hugh's eyes went just as small as he ignored Ross entirely. "As it stands I shall have to persuade Orange not to flinch at this," Red and Blue flinched at that. That she might get dropped as a spokesperson and lose her sponsorship with Orange Amps. Hugh spoke with seriousness but a measure of calm was returning to him. He had a goal now, a mission, to see Demelza not suffer for her husband's foolish escapade, he was not "Le Petit Prince" for nothing. Negotiating her position and seeing her settled safe was already percolating strategems in his brain even as he was dressing the Poldarks down. Hugh thrived on such challenges. He was entering the mode of troubleshooting within management Hugh often liked the rigor of. Pulling a swan's egg from a hornet's nest. "I shall get in front of it, the time difference is in our favour. I can call them as their office opens tonight, first thing in the morning in Blighty. If we," Ross snorted in derision. Hugh certainly meant "I" not "We". "... hold a bit of luck it shall be waved away as a 'rock and roll' thing to do. A devil may care impulse of your insouciance!" It was clear Hugh was already organizing his line of argument in his coming defense of her. It was just as clear he had not overlooked Ross' scornful attitude. Phil Spector, the record producer famed for the "wall of sound" technique, was often rumored to pull guns on his performers to make them do as he bid. Hugh had no weapon but his powers of persuasion. He would do so. In this, Hugh did not waste time pointing his 'gun' at Ross, he was not worth the effort, he was a loose cannon to be monitored. He aimed it squarely at Demelza. It was Demelza who must learn to be mature and think clearly, not be led about by her husband's destructive whims. Hugh would make it plain, exactly, why she needed to think for herself and behave as a responsible client. "I shall _make_ our own luck in that regard, but luck won't last forever if you keep being seen in compromising positions! You need to be seen as the talented musician you are, the performer you are, not some sort of titillation! You need to consider your image to the public not only those who enjoy what entertainment you offer in your music, your image in your modelling but the casual onlooker as well, the yobs, the sort who will only see you as a pair of tits on two legs whatever your worth!" Hugh hissed. Dem recoiled. He had begun speaking in the same sort of pontificating style she was used to, if not in the poetic rapsodies of a better tempered mood. Then Hugh just about spat 'a pair of tits on two legs' in a whispered, snarling malevolence, as if he was damning her to be so, or watching scales fall from his eyes and now saw her that way, as if the gold had suddenly been peeled away and revealed something tawdry and inferior -and unwanted, as if she had turned so before his eyes and fallen from grace. She stared at him, wide eyed. Hugh had a contempt over his features as he spoke. Whether for those 'yobs' or for her or for the situation she could not discern but it was alarming to her. "What cloak do you don?" snapped Hugh in an anger that made it plain Demelza had no permission to speak and answer him. "What costume do you want the public to see you in? If you wear your precious shearling boots do you want to be seen as a figure of fashion? A confident woman who knows her own mind? A girl who wears her boots for her own pleasure? Or should you be seen as a bit of 'totty'*! A Resurgam groupie?" Hugh pontificating had returned. His earlier, contemptuous snarl might have been a slight of hand illusion if her shivering fear had not enacted by it. Demelza bit her bottom lip, she blinked at him wetly. Her recent run in with Maggie Vosper made her sensitive to the term "Resurgam groupie". Hugh's stark behavior, so different to anything she had experienced from him before, was upsetting. Hugh, satisfied that shot had told, continued. "If you don rags, if you act cheap, you give the wrong people ammunition! If you don't have the presence of mind to have a care for your reputation you shall hand it over to the vulgar taste of the lowest common denominator! The press is fickle! If it sells more papers to have you be seen as a simple minded slut who grew up in Ross Poldark's lair they will do so however many connections and advantages I may contrive to nullify those ridiculous rumors! I will not have that be your legacy! You are an exceptional talent! You are a star and your light shall not be tarnished! You shall be seen as a goddess! A queen! You will be queen! And regal in your silks, purples and ermine!" A crackling anger in his speech had brought an illusion of Hugh cursing her. Of cursing Demelza to a deification that she would be royal, she would be a goddess if he had any say it, thank you very much, even if all he had to work with was the common clay of a Luggy. Hugh huffed in a realignment of his emotions. Poldark was a menace. Hugh was starting to lose focus in his anger over it all. He had simply thought Ross a loose cannon who could get his client pregnant. Now Ross was gaining other snarling heads like a Cerberus mutation, a bully who hurt her, a self satisfied tyrant who compromised Hugh's fairy in a obnoxious sense of privilege. His toy from the age of thirteen! Of course Demelza would not defy her husband, he was like a hero to her. But it was not the 60s anymore. Warleggan called Demelza a prostitue in the same effortless lazy manner of so many other people in this Hellhole. Men who could not see her genius, would not, didn't care if she could play a note of anything, who just saw a bit of crumpet to spin about on their cock for airplay, for the notch on their belt. Demelza was a goddess! A goddess mired in a deal with the devil. A man who spared her from her father's abuse and yoked her to scandal, and unrepentant! Ross stood glaring instead being contrite! This was his fault! Ross' fault! Demelza was Persephone and it was Hugh's responsibility to be Hermes, to see her safe from the cold winter of Ross imprisonment and bring his fairy Springtime's joy. A career she could manage herself when he met his reward, a good man, Malcolm, to look after Demelza and her children like she so deserved. _So help me God!_ thought Hugh as he glared at Ross. Dem's eyes smarted with tears. Hugh was correct. If she kept being in tawdry gossip rags this way her music would become secondary. Hugh had scolded her once for wearing a Resurgam tee shirt and told her she must not wear it on stage, made her change it. He told her she must present herself and be seen on her own merits not as an appendage of her husband. Hugh warned her against the heart shaped sunglasses for that same reason. Ross given Dem a beautiful, magical moment but in the wrong place, the wrong time. That sort of fun between them was better indulged in Nampara, at home. Not away from home where photographers lay in wait to take their pictures without so much as a by your leave. She had to remember she was at work. Be those lovers at home where it's safe... Hugh was offended to think of her as being seen as a "a slut". Hugh always spoke of her in reverential terms, with compliments with the respect that lay behind his fervent belief that Dem was 'a goddess'. 'Ma fée' was a term of affection but Hugh's conception of her as a goddess felt 'real', true. In his work with her, dreaming her into a pop star. In the way he made love to her, with a seriousness that was akin to religious devotion but also the high priest of her cult. Hugh pronounced her a goddess, his figure of worship in all things even stepping away to cede claim upon her to Malcolm. He lavished her with pleasure in the shower, kissed her into oblivion and then told her to be with Blue, told her to have that love all to themselves, the whole day, and he let them stay suspended within that happiness. Hugh thought she was a goddess, worked to further her aims with the utmost devotion and now was disappointed in her. Hugh's denial of his regard, erasing it in his terse talk, his unsettling manner of conveying politeness on one hand and contempt on the other was like having cold water thrown at her. If the frisson of confusion in hearing Hugh's abrupt phone call stripped of endearments, no fanciful woven tales in which she was the magic within the day's events in his poetic imagination was disorienting being reprimanded by Hugh was frightening. She did not like feeling Hugh's judgement, Hugh's anger. Demelza much preferred being the goddess, 'ma fée', the muse. She had not considered herself _able_ to lose Hugh's regard. It upset her. She stared at him in a rigid misery. Hugh looked at her coldly and in his gaze Dem heard his challenge. _What's it to be, Demelza? Who are you? Because I don't like to be wrong_. Blue took Red's hand. Did not speak, but took her hand. Red was upset. Hugh weren't wrong, exactly, but he had a bitter tongue in his anger. Hugh had not turned those cold looks or bitter tongue on either of them in their working together. Offhandness. An occasional shading of annoyance in his instruction. A teasing scold. That's what they both had become used to. There were even glimmers of humility in his work with them, in his bass playing, learning to dance, but Hugh was the boss at this moment. Hugh was angry and offended and Red had been drawn into that anger's target. Blue would not intervene, could not, even Ross held fire, watched. But Blue took Red's hand and she held it. ' _You're Red, always. Wha'ever happens, love_...' She squeezed Blue's hand, grateful for the support. Malcolm released her hand. She sniffed herself back into order. She looked at Hugh and in that moment she straightened up, lifted her chin. This was the first time Demelza felt the acid sting of Hugh's tongue, denied all the flattery, deference and privilege she had learned to expect from him and in that moment she felt like she wanted to curl up into a ball and die. But Hugh, clearly, would not allow his fairy to retreat, to cower. He tested her mettle and she resolved to not have it found wanting. Hugh asked her to think it through, did she want to be seen, incorrectly, as a slag or correctly as the goddess she was? Demelza did not nod 'yes'. Hugh did not soften his gaze upon her but they had come to an agreement. She would be the woman who knew her own mind. She would be careful of her image. She would be a goddess...

Ross was incensed. He saw Hugh was right, in a general sense about the media and the newspapers' zeal for heaping undeserved scandal on people. Hugh was not wrong but it annoyed Ross to watch Hugh scold Dem and the suggestion that Ross was an impediment to her. ' _A Resurgam groupie? Christ what an arsehole!_ ' Ross was guilt ridden at various times in their life together, even before they married over his part in the speculation and rumor that followed Dem around but he was as much a victim of it as she was! Ross never sought to place Dem in that position. His only "crime" was looking after her and loving her and marrying her at sixteen. It was the vicious slander of others making trouble for them, not him. And Armitage threw Dem's boots in her face as if he wasn't the one who foisted them on her! Ross found a fascination in Dem's response. Her manager had shocked her. Hugh didn't fill her head with more puffery, he yanked her down to earth instead. That was interesting. And a relief in a way. Dem might not be parroting Hugh's prattle and traipsing about like a spoiled brat after that! 'Ma fée' would ring hollow after that. Ross felt the photographer was to blame. Hugh would talk the amplifier company round and there would be a cooling between Dem and her 'magical' manager's delusion that the other could do no wrong. Ross had a lark of an idea and heeded it, played in the water with his wife. The sort of thing that should have sustained them through this trip, not fallen away in a drunken jealousy. Ross had not devised their nighttime lark with any motive other than the obvious one, to swim and an impromptu teasing, Ross had not intended to skinny dip from the first, it just happened, but in this moment, watching Hugh’s anger and Dem’s distress at being dressed down in such a cold, unpleasant way by the arrogant sod, he wondered if it had achieved a double end. It was unfortunate that a sneak took a picture but it might have solved Ross’ ongoing discomfort with Dem being so quick to think Armitage a shining hero. Dem saw another side to the man now and didn't like it. They grew quiet. Dem had become tearful but regained her composure. Malcolm watched the entire conversation with dismay. He and Red had enjoyed this strange, glamorous place, enjoyed the attention and flattery they had received. And, perhaps Hugh was right to make a pointed reminder that they'd been a little too starry eyed recently. Red took her lumps, took Hugh's telling off. Ross watched everything in a black mood. Hugh didn't pay him any mind and it was clear Red's husband weren't used to that. Blue looked from one man to the other. Hugh and Ross were angry and that might make the rest of the trip a minefield. "Perhaps it will blow over, Hugh," said Malcolm, optimistically. "The Americans over here ain't hung up over things like this..." Hugh smirked. "The West Coast is an odd place. Here one might even be lauded for something like this but we must keep on our guard. Back in England this might be a laugh or it might be a scandal but we'll have no way of knowing until it happens." Hugh's voice had regained the lighter tone Malcolm and Demelza were used to from Hugh but he glared once more at Ross. "Do _try_ to behave." said Hugh, dryly. Red and Blue looked at each other nervously. It was as if Hugh had poured petrol on the floor. Whether Ross dropped a lit match in it remained to be seen. Hugh ground the heels of his palms over his eyes. A sort of tired blush circled his eyes and it faded slowly as he stubbed his pointer finger into the newspaper photo. "I want no more of that for a start! And I don't care if George Warleggan pokes you with a pointed stick! You will BOTH ignore him." Dem looked at Blue and Ross, confused, for none of them had mentioned yesterday's breakfast when had Malcolm thrown his coffee at George after he insulted Demelza. "What happened with George?" she asked quizzically. Hugh realised Demelza was unaware of George's insult. "George and Ross, constantly, act as if one would kill the other at any moment and he made some insulting remarks about Scotland which served to annoy Malcolm. They are better of ignoring him because I would be astonished if he did not bring this business up. I am sure the entire hotel is tittering over it!" said Hugh. Ross and Malcolm appreciated Hugh talking around the actual reason, not telling Demelza of George's rude remark about her. Ross sighed. At the moment he wished he had not come to L.A. and his dislike of Hugh had tripled. They had to make the best of it. They were stuck here until the Grammy Award Ceremony. "I expect the rest of this trip to pass without incident..." said Ross in a flat voice that did nothing to hide his annoyance but was even enough to seem like a truce. Hugh nodded, a smirk appearing was a relief to Red and Blue, both. The petrol did not ignite. "From your mouth to God's ears." said Hugh.

*totty: slang for an attractive woman. Hugh's use of it as an upper class person is sarcastic and derisive of the "yobs" the mannerless class of person who would use that term without affectation and be gormless and low class. Working class Malcolm did consider it ordinary vocabulary when he was thinking through Hugh's pornographic book of Félicien Rops in the chapter "Where The Wild Roses Grow" in All Tomorrow's Parties, Part Two. Hugh, was not taking a swipe at Malcolm but Hugh's demarcation of the drummer not being a yob is not entirely positive. Hugh likes Malcolm but his attitude towards the drummer has a tinge of "noble savage" romanticism. That Malcolm with his tight knit Scottish family and morals is the "good sort" of common folk, salt of the earth is, arguably, true but Malcolm being vetted by Hugh's acceptance and elevated there by is the main driver of Hugh's decision.

Also, Hugh insists "You will be queen!", a lyric in David Bowie's Heroes which was also the theme for Ross and Dem's recent decision to try again after the fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunday Papers, Joe Jackson 1979
> 
> Mother doesn't go out anymore  
> Just sits at home and rolls her spastic eyes  
> But every weekend through the door  
> Come words of wisdom from the world outside
> 
> If you want to know 'bout the bishop and the actress  
> If you want to know how to be a star  
> If you want to know 'bout the stains on the mattress  
> You can read it in the Sunday papers  
> Sunday papers
> 
> Mother's wheelchair stays out in the hall  
> Why should she go out when the TV's on?  
> Whatever moves beyond these walls  
> She'll know the facts when Sunday comes along  
> If you want to know 'bout the mad punk rockers  
> If you want to know how to play guitar  
> If you want to know 'bout any other suckers  
> You can read it in the Sunday papers  
> Read it in the Sunday papers
> 
> Sunday papers, don't ask no questions  
> Sunday papers, don't get no lies  
> Sunday papers, don't raise objections  
> Sunday papers, ain't got no eyes
> 
> Brother's headin' that way now, I guess  
> He just read somethin', made his face turn blue  
> Well I got nothin' 'gainst the press  
> They wouldn't print it if it wasn't true  
> If you want to know 'bout the gay politician (oh yeah!)  
> If you want to know how to drive your car  
> If you want to know 'bout the new sex position
> 
> You can read it in the Sunday papers  
> Read it in the Sunday papers  
> Sunday papers, don't ask no questions  
> Sunday papers, don't get no lies  
> Sunday papers, don't raise objections  
> Sunday papers, ain't got no eyes  
> Sunday papers, don't ask no questions  
> Sunday papers, don't get no lies  
> Sunday papers, don't raise objections  
> Sunday papers, ain't got no eyes  
> Read all about it, Sunday papers
> 
> Get your Sunday paper, get your Sunday paper
> 
> The British are coming: A storied phrase that found it's way into American school books and popular entertainment about "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere" to the alert to the American colonial militia in April 1775 to the approach of British forces before the battles of Lexington and Concord. He was more likely to have said "the Regulars are coming" since, at this point, even as rebels most colonists did still consider themselves British and the danger of informing British military spies was a likely concern. Two English rockers in a pool canoodling was low hanging fruit for this pun about sexual orgasm as the recent American Bicentennial was in 1976 and Colonial history still very much in the U.S. public's imagination.
> 
> Blighty: England
> 
> insouciance: lighthearted unconcern, nonchalance  
>    
> not "Le Petit Prince" for nothing: Hugh's nickname in the French music circles
> 
> silks, purples and ermine: The traditional garb of royalty, costly silk, purple dyed material and white fur trim. The rant "if you don rags" "what costume do you want the public to see you in" is Hugh telling Demelza to think about how she is presenting herself, to have one eye on her image to the outer world. It also alludes to Lou Reed's lyrics for The Velvet Underground's song "All Tomorrow's Parties" 
> 
> And what costume shall the poor girl wear  
> To all tomorrow's parties  
> Why silks and linens of yesterday's gowns  
> To all tomorrow's parties  
> And what will she do with Thursday's rags  
> When Monday comes around  
> She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown and cry behind the door
> 
> Early in these stories, before "New Career" was pulled out and the stories were then established in groups by era (Little Wing, Dem growing up / Why Don't We, their marriage /etc.) this entire story of Ross and Dem and their rock and roll life was titled "All Tomorrow's Parties" 
> 
> Cerberus: a multi-headed dog that guards the gates of the Underworld to prevent the dead from leaving.
> 
> Persephone: Daughter of Demeter, goddess of harvest and abducted by Hades, ruler of the underworld. Demeter demands her daughter back but because Persephone ate pomegranate seeds, ate food from the underworld she should not be allowed to leave. Hades and Demeter both had claim to Persephone so Zeus decreed that they each get her six months of the year. Hermes guides her out of the underworld and back to her mother. The earth experiences spring and summer while Persephone and Demeter are together. While she is with Hades, the earth feels Demeter’s lament, turning the earth cold, during autumn and winter.
> 
> when he met his reward: when he dies, Hugh is terminally ill.
> 
> He threw her boots in her face as if wasn't he the one who foisted them on her!: Ross is not correct. Hugh bought the high heel, over the knee, shearling boots but Dem did choose those boots herself.
> 
> Oh man, what a gap... Back whenever...
> 
> And, note to Kind Reader, Follow The Money: The Eagles “Desperado” will be Chapter 22.


	14. Notorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glass houses

Ross, refusing to breakfast with Hugh, looked at him coldly as he said, “We are finished here. Dem and I shall breakfast downstairs,” Dem looked to Ross timidly, then nodded. She wanted to be loyal to Ross in any case but moreso after their fight. She looked to Malcolm in a quiet, 'goodbye' and walked behind Ross who said goodbye to neither man. He opened the door for Dem and then followed her into the hall where Caroline was just leaving her room. “Oh! Good morning! Are we eating downstairs or...?” She looked at them. Demelza’s eyes were blotchy. She blinked at Caroline like a winsome young maiden holding a rose or a kitten on a sentimental greeting card. “What has happened?” asked Caroline as Ross closed Hugh’s door. He huffed annoyance. “Dem and I swam in the pool after dark, when we first arrived, and some marauding photographer sold a picture to one of the local birdcage liners...” Caroline blinked back surprise with a giggle. Her husband's nonchalance and Dem's teary face told a tale. Ross didn't seem to take it seriously but Hugh must have to call them on the carpet first thing in the morning. She grinned, bright eyes slanting a confidence between them in a cool amusement they were coming to recognise from her. “I take it _mermen_ don’t wear knickers?” said Caroline. The comment, a play on something she had said to Ross during the Orange Amp photo shoot about Dem's costume, was the first thing to make Ross laugh this morning since reading the photo caption. It was rich and vibrant and sounded in the hallway in a merry happiness. He smiled and put his arm around Dem. Caroline looked at her tenderly. Demelza had closed her eyes, sinking into her husband’s side and letting his laughter reverberate through her, and remove her sad look of uncertainty. Her hurt looking sadness blossomed into tentative smile that gained strength apace as he held her. Letting his laughter and his regard for her shelter his wife. In his dark clothes, in her sprightly white tunic sprigged with flowers. In his tall, black boots and her black tight clad legs flowing into little ballet flats like a dancer. Hair everywhere, grown in dark loose waves, in red bouncy curls, lush and romantic. Strength within Demelza's delicacy as she held him and regained her equilibrium. Delicacy in Ross, laughter, strength in his admiration of her. Caroline watched Ross coaxing Dem into good humor and his love flowing forward into her, one could see it. They looked like they belonged together. Yin and Yang. A symmetry. They looked like two peas in a pod. Content and in the sort of love that was palpable between two who had loved long. Caroline envied Demelza in that moment. Ross put his arm around her in the surety and ease of having been her companion for years, a squeeze nearer to him in a bolstering of his wife’s mood as she put her arms around his waist, support, not just a cuddle. For Demelza, to have a loyal friend in Malcolm and have such an affectionate physicality in their friendship, to have a husband who cared for her so, who gave her friend generous forbearance in their relationship and so much love of his own to his wife made her a lucky girl. Caroline could see Ross' laughter buoy Demelza in a fragile, then strong, pretty smile and her grateful snuggle into his side. “Oh, my dear!" laughed Caroline, delighted at the sight of them. She expected Hugh would have been put out and cross. "I shouldn’t wonder Hugh gave you a talking to! Not to worry, my lovely,” said Caroline in sympathy. “People dearly love a gossip, but I can’t imagine anyone thinking ill of you!" Dem smiled at her, Caroline grinned between them. "Come along, then! You've survived the perilous chair! Come to mine and rinse your face, my dear. Then we shall eat! We shall toast to your new notoriety with Mimosas!" Dem giggled and Ross smiled saying, quietly, "Thank you, Caroline, but just orange juice will suffice for me." They disappeared into Caroline's room.

In Hugh's room, Malcolm stared after Ross and Dem. He was glad to see Hugh had not offered some barbed retort as they left. He was still a bit rattled by Hugh making a pointed veiled reference to the goings on at the Plaza. Hugh watched them go with a sense of relief. He had intended breakfast here in truth but the meal would have been strained to say the least! He looked to Malcolm. "It seems we are on our own," said Hugh. The ill temper within him dispersed. "Do you care to dine, Malcolm?" Hugh sat about asking whether to have breakfast or not. Cool as you please. Malcolm crossed his arms in annoyance. Not ever being in a position to be made unnerved to that degree over a sexual situation and irritated. Whether it was irritated with himself for trusting Hugh or for being placed too far on the back foot to come to Dem's aid he was not sure. Malcolm groused, "I ain't hungry! I lost me appetite! I never figured ee for a grass, Hugh! What's you game then?!" Between Malcolm's accent and the slang he was using, Hugh was at sea. He knit his brows. "I don't follow..." said Hugh crisply but in clear confusion. "What do you mean? 'Grass'?" Malcolm frowned. He broke past a taboo he'd not considered himself capable of, in sleeping with Red, let alone in sleeping with Red _and_ Hugh. Trading her back and forth was scandal enough but sharing her, all three at once, seemed like an choice between equals until now. Malcolm, seeking Demelza's decision as a green light before daring to agree, following her lead. Malcolm wouldn't have gone that far if Red had said no. Red might not have said yes if she thought Hugh might hold it over them later. Hugh watched him, looking up from his seat, Malcolm frowning down at him. "I ain't sayin' Ross weren't wrong, I ain't sayin' Red didn't put 'er foot in it! Right? They was wrong. Red took 'er lumps for it an' all, alright? You's the manager an' the boss, an' ee gave 'er what for..." Malcolm paused. He had enjoyed it all, the back and forth, the next day in a delirium of happy lovemaking... He did enjoy being with Red and Hugh. It was mad and wrong and Hot. As. Hell. It was a splinter of discomfort to remember it so, believe it a closed subject and have Hugh give them a right scare next to Red's husband. Malcolm got the jitters from it, felt physically afraid in a jolt of nerves. Hugh had rattled him bad, rattled Red an' all. Hugh watched Malcolm considering his words, angry and in a muddle. He began to understand the drummer's debate within himself. Hugh had warned them to be discreet and he and Demelza, both, knew full well what he meant. Hugh thought it justified. Having seen them blink at each other like Mickey and Minnie Mouse most of the night at that last party, with Brodrugan watching them both with interest, whispering and chortling with that escort who looked happy to find reasons to irritate Demelza's husband, they could do with the reminder. Having seen Malcolm toss coffee at George Warleggan in an instantaneous defence of "his Red", Hugh was not such a fool as to tell Demelza off in such a stark sadism without pinning her in her place and bringing her "guard dog" to heel first, reminding them they should not cross Hugh for he was the boss. Hugh waited. Malcolm continued. "Ee was out of order! Red trusted you! I trusted ee too! We ain't said it, plain like, but it was a deal! We weren't tellin' no one 'bout nothin'! An' then ee go wavin' it in front of 'er bloke!" Hugh said quietly. "Ross had no possible way of deciphering that. I simply reminded you both to have discretion..." Hugh pontificating in the assurance of being correct. Malcolm, half angry, half pettish, struggling not to raise his voice said, "Ee KNOW it weren't like that! You did it purposeful! Ee said it like a threat! I figured you was on the straight wi' us! That ee weren't no grass! That ee ain't tellin' what's between us three an the four walls, eh? We's a band! We's a gang, eh? Loyal! Ain't no one tellin' no tales! We was equal!" Hugh tilted his chin up spoke in an even tempered way. "And so it was. If Demelza is that indiscreet, willing to let Ross gode her into exposing herself and carry on like that, she needed the reminder," Hugh considered his next sentence. He absolutely wanted Malcolm to usurp Ross. In this any judgement or suggestion of shame in their behaviour was likely to make Malcolm pledge NOT to pursue Demelza, make even more effort in resisting his attraction to her and cede his claim to her husband. "We have nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed by," They looked at each other, Hugh in his authority but made less cold somehow by having his sunglasses off. A sober Malcolm who had not yet let down his guard. "I did make reference to discretion by alluding to our... Pact." Malcolm frowned, Hugh continued. "I shall not be 'a grass', Malcolm. But it is important to be careful. You and Demelza were friends long before I turned up. You both have every right to be the sort of friends you are. I look to you both as deserving in your affection. Even Ross makes no attempt to censure your regard for her in your companionship," Malcolm heard Hugh wriggling out of it, talking of him and Red and avoiding Malcolm's complaint. That wasn't on as far as he was concerned. Hugh had scared him. Malcolm brought things back to the subject at hand. "What's your game then, eh?!" asked Malcolm. "We's all for one, like the Three Musketeers, until ee want t’be boss again an' want t'rub me nose in the carpet?! Tell Red 'do this or else?!' Eh?!" Hugh looked at Malcolm. Pride, loyalty to his friend, of course. His 'Red'. Embarrassment. Malcolm would not want it known he had slept with Demelza, so anxious to be seen above board as loyal friend. Malcolm was "man's man". That he had sex with another man watching him, and another man joining in, was beyond the pale and a secret of the highest order for him. Malcolm might even be dimly aware that Hugh did most of his fucking unseen, as Malcolm slept, in the shower. It was not equality for all Malcolm and Demelza thought it so. Neither of them were sophisticated enough to set aside their gleeful sense of freedom and bliss to focus on Hugh's organizing of principles. Both of them too taken with each other to consider that such an event needed organization, rules. A boss. A boss who should make rules. A boss who could break rules if he chose. Such was the nature of authority. Hugh had rattled Malcolm. He meant to rattle him. Demelza as well. Democracy is good in theory but hierarchy was the more natural order of things. Demelza was a goddess in all things, bringer of divine love, to be sure. She became holy and both men heeded her call. But every mystery cult needs a priest. Hugh was the manager as well as the bass player. In musicianship Hugh could admit himself beneath them. Malcolm and Demelza were better, stronger musicians. He grew alongside them within their talents to stand, if not equally, then in a strength that met the mark. As manager, as the boss, where would they be without him? In a poky rehearsal room in the arse end of London! Not on the charts, not on the Top of the Pops, not on The Old Grey Whistle Test and not in Los Angeles as Warner signed artists. Hugh brought Demelza and Malcolm's gold to the surface. They made music together, he brought their gold to light. He eased them into a more sophisticated mode of being, Hugh broke apart their shell of propriety, gave 'Red and Blue' permission to cast off the skin of civilization and love each other properly. Enfants sauvages freed of their working class mores. Deservedly so, as far as Hugh was concerned. That Demelza chose to include Hugh was not something he sought even as he grew that much more obsessed by her, in love with her. It was the favour of the goddess upon him. But every mystery cult needed a priest, a boss... 'On the straight wi' us'... Hugh sighed. It was never equal but Hugh craved that equality too in this enterprise, that was new. A new sensation. That was a gift Demelza and Malcolm gave him in all generosity. The right to feel like a bass player, not 'just the boss'. He did owe them that. If he was secure to be the boss in an overarching manner, he was also the animus to their anima in their trio. Malcolm and Demelza in a feminine duality and Hugh in his masculine energy. Malcolm was Demelza's shadow self, Hugh placed his energy within the anima for all he was a working class man. They were a trio. They were bound. "I will not fail you Malcolm. I shall not betray you or Demelza in our arrangement," Hugh considered things. He'd be foolish to hand away leverage, power. But he was dying. Couldn't he bend? A tithe. The priest in his proper place, able to renew his devotion. "I beg your pardon, Malcolm. I spoke in anger for all a meant my words. I don't absolve myself of the need for discretion and I will not lord over your heads that which is equal between us three. We each chose to agree to what happened in New York within an equilateral triangle, a trio." Malcolm shifted from foot to foot, listening, relinquishing a bit of his anger. Hugh could see he had placated the Scot.

"Swear it." said Malcolm, more for Red than even himself.

"I swear it." said Hugh.

Ross was amused to see people using the pool beyond the tall medieval style windows in the restaurant, heretofore a placid, silent prop to give ambiance as people sunned themselves or spoke around the various tables with drinks and the hunched whispers or broad showy talk of L.A. people and their deals and angling. Caroline was amused the feel the new regard those around them gave as they went to breakfast, even some wolf whistles and good natured compliments. Everyone in the know and charmed by a midnight swim, looking upon the Poldarks with amused admiration and Caroline as a member of a charmed circle. Demelza was amused to see staff, rushing about in a new found need to mop up random puddles on the ground from people leaving the pool, stringing rice paper lanterns up, around the perimeter and fitting tiki torches, rustic looking bamboo stakes holding petrol lamps at their tops, poolside around the perimeter. The hotel management was readying for a nighttime session, with lifeguard, for after dark enjoyment. The sign did specify that all swimmers be properly clad in bathing costumes for the duration. Dem chuckled over her pancakes, an Americanism she had come to enjoy. Not like Shrove pancakes at all. Fluffy, plump cakes that sat one on top of the other in a perfection of roundness that rivaled the moon and, in this place, a pale pat of butter plunked on top like a tiny scoop of ice cream, melting true, but not quickly enough to disintegrate at once, sliding a path of butter foamed at its edges with the rumple of butter at its humped sides, turning lopsided as it moved slowly onwards and the cakes themselves awaiting maple syrup, not golden syrup or as Mum dressed their thinner, Shrove ones with lemon juice and sugar. Dem found the taste of hot coffee with them quite sublime, and enjoyed each bite, feeling better, more apart from Hugh's bitter words and able to bring them into better focus. Hugh had been offended but, at the last, gave her leave to redeem herself. He would remain her champion and she would take better care to mind how she was seen and how she chose to behave. Ross, content with bacon and eggs, two triangles of toasted bread, toasted apart from the griddle, no hint of grease soaking the bread save what butter one chose from regimented, individual pats, wrapped in gold foil like candies, smiled at his dinning companions in a lightened mood. Armitage was blowing everything out of proportion. The photo was absorbed by all as the sort of lark anyone could see it was. The hotel itself made hay from it by promising their guests lifeguard monitored nighttime swims. A fun novelty, a cheeky amusement. Dem tucked into her breakfast in a strengthening cheerfulness and was freeing herself from her manager's ill temper. Ross had cause to hope a sliver of Hugh's nastiness remained to give her pause. Were it not this situation, perhaps it would have happened some other way but Dem had seen Armitage in a new light that might serve to cure both of them of their worship of the other. To Ross that seemed like a good thing. Malcolm turned up and had a fried egg with similar trimmings too. They thought the Getty Museum might be a good trip today. They would accompany Caroline and meet up with Hugh for dinner. They did toast, two Mimosa filled flutes and two tumblers of regular orange juice as Malcolm thought champagne and liquor at breakfast too much decadence and Ross felt his need for sobriety creep back into the fore. "What shall we toast to?" asked Dem. "Midnight rides!" laughed Caroline, and even surrounding diners partook.

Hugh did order breakfast as Malcolm took his leave. A delightful concoction of a puff pastry shell, poached egg and a hollandaise sauce with flecks of smoked bacon and parsley bobbling about in it. A tasty triffle and very well made, the sauce remained rich and resistant to congealing, the egg pipping hot in its crisp shell. Hugh had no qualms in breakfasting alone. They had free time in these next days. Time to do as they pleased. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or forgetful, and either situation was useful. The bitter pill he'd forced down Demelza's throat was poised to release in stages and with a long lasting efficacy. Hugh could see Demelza weigh her options and decide discretion befit her. Malcolm, having brought to bear what aid in defense of his friend and the band's relationship, after the fact, was content with Hugh's promise of egalitarianism and secrecy. Ross was Ross. They would meet up for dinner and things would press on as normal. They would seek leisure, enjoy what Los Angeles had to offer. He would make enquiries, handle things. Be the boss. He retrieved his sunglasses, put them on. His left eye was fading in and out of focus more aggressively today and that might have brought more annoyance to bear in his manner than even being greeted by the Poldarks' photograph this morning might. He would fix everything. But perhaps the steadying influence of Georgia o'Keeffe might help him to regroup after a tiresome morning. There was a dainty little reading room on the premises and the large, vibrant pictures would not tax Hugh's eyes. Perfect.

It was a nicely appointed room, arranged for reading in truth not another area for gabbing and chit chat. Biographies of famous people, art and the usual suspects in novels lined the walls in a wide array of interest. Some of the tall, throne like chairs that were in the dining room were set at the table at the far side of the room. Hugh procured a huge, coffee table tome of an o'Keeffe book and settled himself to quiet contemplation. Casually dressed; not in a billowing trench coat, slender; Hugh was a tall person with a trim physique, Hugh was shielded by the high back chair. To the untrained eye, a book lay open on the table but the reader was not apparent. Hugh stopped turning the pages as he became privy to a conversation at the entrance, but not inside the reading room. "Any joy with that redhead?" "No! And she's frolicking half dressed in the papers just to rub it in!" "Who's this now?" "That English girl Armitage is flashing..." “He’s got two of them, the lucky bastard! I bet he made them keep those dresses on the whole night!” "The long haired guy is the husband." "He told me to fuck off, the manager's like 'closed for the season!'" "You asked the husband?!" "Who?" Handshaking paused the talk. "Damn straight I asked the husband! The dude's into kids! Ask any of these limeys around!" "What? He was fucking her in the pool..." "Ask around, they're notorious! He's been keeping that girl since she was ten! That's why he doesn't pay her any mind, she's got that boyfriend..." "Who?" "That redhead..." "Oh my FUCKING. GOD. Jessica won't shut up about those two! She renamed the whippets Red and Blue...." Laughter. A derisive snort. "Red and Blue, you mean Bonnie and Clyde?" "I offered three grand!" "To the manager?" "No! The husband!" "Armitage didn't come here to give up the goods, he came to show off!" "I offered him a prime playlist slot, no dice!" "Swan around pretending to be the bass player, get a sweet deal from Warner and two blow jobs a night? He got them on TV in England and she hasn't even got an album going!" "Two? The other girl?" "No, man! The drummer!" "Oh, please! Get the fuck outta here!" "For real! They're in on it together! They are grifters! That Armitage is obsessed with her! He left France to work with her! Why leave a top pitch at WEA like that? He's crazy for her, the husband's a drunk and she gets to live the high life with the boyfriend! They made out like bandits! Sucking their manager's cock is a small price to pay!" "Don't believe it! She calls the shots, if anything it's the manager who blows them! I bet money! He knows what that kid's cum tastes like, he watches both of them like a creep, not just the girl That's why he wears those glasses! Creepin'!" Snort of disbelief. "Were you born yesterday? He's a cokehead! That's why he's got the glasses! You can't see his pupils at all!" "He's not sharing his toys with anybody!" "Would you? She's hot as hell!" "I'm telling you she's independent, fuck the manager! It's getting her away from the boyfriend! He's on her like glue!" "You think he'd let tail like that wander around alone? He's no dummy even if the husband is!" "I'm telling you, ask these English dudes! The girl got cut loose by the husband years ago!" "I think he knows she'll bolt if he's not on her all the time!" “The husband?” “No! The drummer!” "It's so obvious she's the money! Go deal with her!" "You're full of shit" "I'm not! That girl knows what she's doing! You need to go to the source! Stop playing around with the dudes! She's up for it! You can tell! Cut out the middlemen!" General grumbling. "The Monk is after her..." "Well, GODDAMN IT! Don't tell me I'm paying three grand anyway and Monk gets her on my dime! SHIT!" Laughter. "No dice! I'm telling you, even Monk will get shut out! The girl is leading her manager around by the nose! She's into her drummer." “ _I'm_ into the drummer he won't give him up either!" Laughter. "That dude does what _she_ wants. She's a hussy!" "What?" "A stone cold hussy! You can tell that type anywhere..." "They are testing the water. He had them out in New York, he's seen the writing on the wall. New York's dead! He wants to be where the action is. If they come back it will be cash on the counter! I guarantee! He'll have them lined up out the door for a turn! You'll be sick of that pussy once he really wants action!" "He will and you guys handed him the fuckin' keys, dude!" "What?" "He's a sneak! Everyone offered him the moon! He can take his time now! He'll come back and pull better deals! Admit it! He played everybody! You guys are playing checkers and he's playing chess!" More grumbling. Of all the comments, the last one seemed the most plausible to them. They talked of other things. Demelza and Malcolm were not the only young, nubile, bright young things on offer and much was made of a couple of other performers who did acquiesce.

Hugh, listened to them talk of other things and disperse. He sat in quiet consternation feeling an uncharacteristic warmth at his cheeks. He sat holding his chin in his hand, elbow propped upon the open book, feeling heat and blush rise in his face in discomfort. Like a fun house mirror that distorts reflections in alarming ways, these men in their ribald talk turned purity into filth. Someone had told the Americans of the second layer of industry gossip about Ross and Demelza that Hugh had heard and disregarded out of hand, even before he met the Poldarks. Old tattle. That Ross had married Dem at sixteen and ceased to care for her, that she was the first of his underage conquests and they lived a marriage of convenience. That he made what sport he pleased with other underage girls with Dem as a fig leaf over this behaviour. That she was friends with Malcolm seemed to revive the tale; she found a 'boy her own age and Ross condones it because their lives were separate anyway'. They complained Hugh was scheming, waiting, holding fire and then would be willing to do a deal, give them the right to Hansel and Gretel with no limits. One insisted Demelza be approached herself. Hugh felt that would not be plausible. Demelza was chaperoned with one of them at all times, if not with them all together and Malcolm was with her if Ross was not. They said... Hugh frowned. He rubbed his eyes. His cheeks were red. He and Malcolm did not interact as lovers but Demelza was a conduit between them. Hugh tasted Demelza's mouth. _He knows what that kid's_... Hugh ran his hand through his hair in an irritated fidget. They were ignorant! They turned purity into filth. Hugh was not like them, not like those jaded men with minds like addle-gutters. Wicked, empty, dirty gossip. Scurrilous gossip! Let them talk till their tongues dropped out! Hugh had tasted Malcolm upon her tongue but was not as those beasts had brayed about it, it was not like that! He had not sought that night. It was pure. The goddess decreed there would be two consorts. He had no hand in it. It... Hugh rose from the chair. He would not waste time with ignorance and slander. He had things to do. Responsibilities to see to. Enquiries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notorious, Duran Duran 1987
> 
> No-no-Notorious. Notorious. Ah. No-no-Notorious.
> 
> I can't read about it.  
> Burns the skin from your eyes.  
> I'll do fine without it.  
> Here's one you don't compromise.  
> Lies come hard in disguise.  
> They need to fight it out.  
> Not wild about it.  
> Lay your seedy judgements.  
> Who says they're part of our lives?  
> You own the money ;  
> You control the witness.  
> I'll leave you lonely.  
> Don't monkey with my business.  
> You pay the prophets to justify your reasons.  
> I heard your promise,but I don't believe it.
> 
> That's why I've done it again. No-no-Notorious.
> 
> Girls will keep the secrets (uh)  
> So long as boys make a noise.  
> Fools run rings to break up.  
> Something they'll never destroy.  
> Grand Notorious slam (bam).  
> And who really gives a damn for a flaky bandit?  
> Don't ask me to bleed about it;  
> I need this blood to survive.
> 
> That's why I've done it again. No-no-Notorious.
> 
> That's why I've done it again. No. No.  
> That's why I've done it again. No-no-Notorious.  
> That's why I've done it again. No-no-Notorious.  
> No-no-Notorious. Yeah.  
> That's why I've done it again. No-no-Notorious.  
> No-no-Notorious. Yeah.  
> That's why I've done it again. No-no-Notorious.  
> No-no-Notorious.
> 
> Birdcage liner: a newspaper of such ill repute its only worth comes from using it to protect the floor of a birdcage from droppings.
> 
> Yin and Yang: a Chinese concept of dualism, describing how seemingly opposite or contrary forces may actually be complementary, interconnected, and interdependent in the natural world, and how they may give rise to each other as they interrelate to one another.
> 
> Perilous chair: (siege perilous) the empty seat at King Arthur's Round Table reserved for the knight destined to achieve the quest of the Holy Grail and fatal to any other occupying it.
> 
> Grass: snitch, tattle tale
> 
> Pettish: childishly bad-tempered, petulant.
> 
> Rub one's nose in the carpet: keep reminding someone about something unpleasant.
> 
> Animus/Anima: The anima and animus are described in Carl Jung's school of analytical psychology as part of his theory of the collective unconscious. Jung described the animus as the unconscious masculine side of a woman, and the anima as the unconscious feminine side of a man, each transcending the personal psyche. Jung's theory states that the anima and animus are the two primary anthropomorphic archetypes of the unconscious mind. 
> 
> Gap, gap, gap... Still writing...

**Author's Note:**

> Hotel California, The Eagles 1977
> 
> On a dark desert highway  
> Cool wind in my hair  
> Warm smell of colitas  
> Rising up through the air  
> Up ahead in the distance  
> I saw a shimmering light  
> My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim  
> I had to stop for the night
> 
> There she stood in the doorway  
> I heard the mission bell  
> And I was thinkin' to myself  
> 'This could be heaven or this could be hell  
> Then she lit up a candle  
> And she showed me the way  
> There were voices down the corridor  
> I thought I heard them say
> 
> Welcome to the Hotel California  
> Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)  
> Such a lovely face  
> Plenty of room at the Hotel California  
> Any time of year (any time of year)  
> You can find it here
> 
> Her mind is Tiffany-twisted  
> She got the Mercedes bends, uh  
> She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys  
> That she calls friends  
> How they dance in the courtyard  
> Sweet summer sweat  
> Some dance to remember  
> Some dance to forget
> 
> So I called up the Captain  
> "Please bring me my wine"  
> He said, "We haven't had that spirit here since 1969"  
> And still those voices are calling from far away  
> Wake you up in the middle of the night  
> Just to hear them say
> 
> Welcome to the Hotel California  
> Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)  
> Such a lovely face  
> They livin' it up at the Hotel California  
> What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)  
> Bring your alibis
> 
> Mirrors on the ceiling  
> The pink champagne on ice  
> And she said, "We are all just prisoners here of our own device"  
> And in the master's chambers  
> They gathered for the feast  
> They stab it with their steely knives  
> But they just can't kill the beast
> 
> Last thing I remember  
> I was running for the door  
> I had to find the passage back  
> To the place I was before  
> "Relax", said the night man  
> "We are programmed to receive  
> You can check out any time you like  
> But you can never leave"


End file.
